By the Numbers
by Cars1
Summary: Five people take a trip to Alaska.    One hike to a hot spring and everything changes.    Two people find something they never expected.    Sometimes spontaneous is a good thing.
1. Chapter 1

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful new story: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. I couldn't do it without you. XO_

So, I'm back with another story that has been brewing for several months and just won't leave me alone. I hope you enjoy this story, and this Edward, who you will see, has more than a few little quirks.

Come, join me.

Chapter One

_**Edward**_

Four hundred and twenty. How many minutes she's been gone.

Nine. How many times Emmett has asked, "Are we there yet?"

Three. How many drinks Emmett and Rose have had as they sit in front of me in first class while we make our way to Cooper Landing, Alaska, population three hundred and sixty-nine.

Five. How many times Jasper has told Alice he loves her so far on this flight.

Three million, five hundred and fifty thousand, one hundred and fifty-four. How many minutes I knew her.

Three minutes, eighteen seconds. How long it took for her to turn her back on me.

One. Empty seat beside me.

My life is, and always has been about numbers. It's all I've ever wanted. All I could really deal with. It's how I survived high school, and how I know I'll survive Jessica leaving me.

I met Jessica Stanley six years and four months ago. Actually, I didn't meet her, I bumped into her, my face literally in a book while I tried to walk and read at the same time. Something I knew better than to be doing. I'm not the most coordinated person.

I never played a sport in high school.

I left that to Emmett.

I never went to a dance.

I left that to Emmett.

I never went out on a date.

I left that to Emmett.

I had exactly one friend in high school, outside of Emmett; Jasper Whitlock. Jasper is smooth talking and good looking. Everyone loves him. So, by extension, and not because they want to, everyone tolerates me.

Emmett and Jasper looked out for me in high school when it became painfully obvious that I was the designated kid to be picked on. No one dared try anything worse than taunting me, and certainly never in Emmett or Jasper's presence. The pair of them would have literally killed anyone who tried.

I'm grateful for both of them. I'm certain I would not have survived high school without them. At the very least, I would have carried deep seeded scars that would have lasted a lifetime. Even as it was, there were some close calls. The first day of grade nine sticks out in my mind. Emmett, being a year older than me, had already established himself as King-of-all-things-athletic at Forks High School.

How could anyone know that the skinny, slouched over kid with the glasses and the sweater vest who scurried from one class to another, trying desperately not to make eye contact, was his brother?

Emmett was and still is everything I'm not. He's social, outgoing, boisterous, and has a heart of gold. So, when Tyler Crowley and his burly gang of Neanderthals pushed me up against a locker and threatened to stuff me in it if I didn't complete their algebra assignments for them, they were beyond shocked when Emmett promptly came to my rescue.

That doesn't mean that I got a free ride. I was never invited to any parties, always picked last in dreaded gym class, "volunteered" to run stats for whatever team the pair of them were on. I essentially existed in their shadow for the four extremely long years of high school. Not that I minded. Shadows are safe… you can blend into them, almost get lost, if you really try.

University was a different matter. Emmett was accepted to Washington State on a soccer scholarship, and my perfect GPA meant I had my pick of any Ivy League school I wanted. They were all practically begging for me to attend. With a great deal of trepidation and feeling like I was going to throw up the entire time, I went with Emmett, of course. The mere thought of trying to navigate any type of social setting without him, impossible for me to imagine at the tender age of seventeen.

Yes, I graduated early with Emmett, and I think Mom and Dad were happy about that. I started hearing the words "photographic memory" and "gifted" around the time I turned six. While Emmett and Dad threw the baseball around outside, I studied the trajectory of it, the physics behind it, calculated Emmett's drop rate percentage. Actually throwing it never was of interest to me.

Being a doctor, Dad assumed I would be, as well. It became painfully obvious that wasn't going to happen when I passed out at the sight of Emmett's bloody nose when he got hit in the face with the baseball Dad and him were throwing one night. I could have told him it was going to happen, given the angle he was standing at and the velocity of the ball when Dad threw it at him.

Eleven years later, I know what happened in high school was largely irrelevant in my life. University makes you grow up, pretty fast. I soon learned that there were others who shared a similar horrific high school experience. Not that I became friends with any of them, but it was nice to know I wasn't totally alone in my extreme awkwardness and loner tendencies.

I breezed through the Masters of Accounting Program, gaining my CPA in record time. Looking back, I'm sure I could have done it all in my sleep, or drunk… if I ever got drunk. Being, well, me, I know my limits. No more than two light beers.

Which brings me to today and how I'm sitting on a plane, bound for Alaska on a trip I was supposed to be taking with Jessica. Jessica had different ideas. Her ideas included what she described as a "fuck-hot lover" who was "better than I could ever dream to be" in bed. She left me this morning, four hours and forty-three minutes before our flight was scheduled to leave.

I can't really say I blame her. I'm not experienced in bed. I've read all the books, strictly for research purposes, of course. I know the mechanics; the fact that it should take approximately seven to ten minutes from start to finish. Intimacy has never been something I'm comfortable with. It's the reason the only experience I have is with Jessica. When we did have sexual relations, which was only a total of eighteen times, she always took the lead, telling me what I was supposed to be doing, moving my hands to where she wanted them. She would ask me if it felt good. I suppose it did. I ejaculated when I was supposed to, but I'm pretty sure I was missing something.

I know how Emmett and Rosalie are. I've had to watch them fawn all over each other for four extremely long years. Jessica and I never did that. I've seen the way Jasper and Alice look at each other, like there isn't anyone else in the room… in the world. Jessica and I never did that, either.

Maybe I'm just not cut out for a romantic relationship. I was just fine before Jessica, and I'll be just fine without her. I know on some level, I should be upset about Jessica leaving me, but I don't really feel anything.

Maybe it's because my life is completely full as it is. I have our renovation business to take care of. Emmett, Jasper, and I somehow manage to run the most successful home renovation company in Seattle without killing each other in the process. Emmett takes care of the contracting and construction, Jasper, the interior design, and I take care of the planning and accounting. Every dime accounted for, every single job completed exactly when we say it will be, not one extra drop of paint left over when we're done. To say it's a well oiled machine is an understatement. We split the profits of the business equally, and there are a lot of profits.

I also teach an accounting class at Seattle Community College on Wednesday nights to keep me busy. Emmett, Jasper, and I work out in my gym at the house at six-thirty in the evening on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Try as they might to get me to join a gym, I'd rather keep the germs to a minimum. My gym at home is more than adequate, taking up half of the second floor of my house, and has all the latest equipment. I don't need to go to some germ infested fitness center where people will only stare and judge me. Thanks. I've been on that ride, I have the t-shirt. I'm actually proud of the fact that I can finally run on a treadmill without falling off it. It took Emmett literally years to teach me… I've had a litany of bruises to show for my failed attempts, but eventually, I did learn.

My weeks round out with Sunday afternoon lunch at Mom and Dad's, and the rest of the time, I work. So, I guess, I really don't have time for a relationship, which is probably why things didn't work out with Jessica.

I settle back in the seat and open up my laptop as Emmett turns around, an unimpressed look on his face. "What are you doing? We're supposed to be on vacation," he scolds.

"I'm just going to get started grading the mid-terms that were submitted. I've downloaded them, and they're just sitting there, and I can't—"

He reaches over the top of seat and pushes the laptop closed. "Yes, you can, Edward. You need a break. You work constantly, bro. They're coming around with drinks. What would you like?" he asks, leaning over the top of the seat, his massive arms swaying back and forth while the flight attendant waits in the aisle with the chrome beverage cart.

"I'll have a glass of ice water," I say to her, fishing my PBA free water bottle out of my bag and handing it to her. She lifts her eyebrows to me, her eyes lingering on my face before she shakes her head, gently taking the bottle out of my hand. See? Even the flight attendant thinks I'm a freak.

"Ice water? You sure do know how to get all wild and crazy," Rosalie teases, peeking over the top of her seat. "Edward, have a drink."

I push my glasses back up my nose and narrow my eyes at Rosalie. "We're thirty-seven thousand feet in the air. Alcohol is only going to dehydrate me," I argue.

"Then you just have more," Alice chimes in, leaning across Jasper's lap and smiling at me. Rosalie and Alice are the only women I've ever known that don't treat me like I'm different. Rosalie always tells it like it is, which I appreciate, and Alice is constantly supportive of me, even when the _in_ crowd in high school disowned her because she was seen talking to me in the hall between classes.

"You do realize that there's only about ten percent humidity in this plane? You need to keep hydrated," I explain as I take my water bottle back from the flight attendant. She looks flushed and turns her attention to Alice, while I set the bottle on the tray table beside me.

"Hence the reason I'm having another glass of wine," Alice says, handing her plastic glass to the flight attendant.

Jasper just snickers and kisses her on the cheek. "That's my girl," he says lovingly. "You should have a drink, Edward. You deserve it after what you went through this morning with Jessica."

"Please do not mention that skank's name, ever again," Rosalie says, turning around and sinking back into her seat.

"I don't think you should call her a skank, Rosalie," I whisper, cringing at the word as it comes out of my mouth.

"For the millionth time, Edward, call me Rose. I've known you for four years, you've seen me naked, I think we're past formalities at this point, and yes… Jessica is a skank. You're just too much of a nice guy to admit it." I feel my body shiver at the memory of walking in on Emmett and Rosalie… errr Rose, on my parent's couch two weeks after they started dating. Rosalie was naked, on her knees in front of the couch, and Emmett had a big red bow, right-

"Would you care for some nuts?" the flight attendant asks as she brushes her hair behind her shoulder and blinks repeatedly at me. Does she have something in her eye? It must be contact lenses.

I'm glad I didn't wear mine on the flight. I hardly ever wear them. They were a birthday gift from Alice last year. She said my glasses hid my eyes and that was a shame because my eyes are green and you hardly ever see green eyes. I don't think Alice breathes nearly as much as she should when she's talking. No one cares if my eyes are green. No one ever wants to stay long enough to even find out they're green. But, rather than engage in an argument that I would never win, I let her buy me the contacts. I don't like them, if I'm being honest. They are awkward to put in, and they kind of throw off my depth perception, which isn't good for someone like me, who is uncoordinated at the best of times.

"No, thank you," I say, opening the laptop back up, now that Emmett has turned around in his seat.

"How about some pretzels?" she asks, holding out a tiny bag in front of her.

"No. I'm okay, right now."

"Well, if you need anything, just let me know," she says as she pushes the cart down the aisle.

"Dude!" Emmett turns around in his seat, looking all excited.

"Yes, Emmett?" I ask, scowling as I scan the first of the tests I downloaded this morning. I wonder if my students are even listening to what I say half the time. "C" is every single answer in the multiple choice section of this test, and there are little digital happy faces in the essay portion.

I look at the name of the student. Lauren Mallory. Yes, she does have the attention span of a child. I suppose I could offer to tutor her after class, again; although, the last time, she spent the hour licking a rather large lollipop and bumping my leg with her shoe. Even though she nodded and said, "Oh, I get it," twenty-nine times, I'm fairly certain she didn't "get it" at all.

"That flight attendant totally has the hots for you," Emmett says, hitting me in the leg.

"How much have you had to drink?" I ask, looking up from the computer screen at him.

"You should go for it! Join the mile high club!"

"You're an idiot," Rosalie says, smacking Emmett in the back of the head.

"Ow! Babe, that hurt," Emmett complains, rubbing his head.

"The mile high club?" I ask. "Is that like a points club or something? I already have air miles, Emmett."

Jasper chuckles and raises his eyebrows to me. "The mile high club is sex on a plane, Edward."

I feel my eyes widen. "What? Where does that even happen? There are people everywhere!" I whisper across the aisle to him.

Jasper waggles his eyebrows at me. "That's what makes it so much fun. And where? The bathroom, usually." He smirks knowingly.

"The bathroom? That's disgusting, Jasper! Do you know how many germs are… you know what, forget it. That's just…" I shiver and turn back to my computer, wishing I never heard of the mile high club.

I know this is yet another thing people don't like about me. I'm not a risk taker. I detest the idea of breaking from the norm… well, my norm. I like structure and order and predictability. I don't have OCD or anything, and yes, I've been tested, I just like things to be reliable and consistent. That's why we're currently flying Air Northern. It's the safest airline that flies to Alaska with the biggest first class seats, and the most on time arrivals of all the airlines that fly there.

My need for certainty is also why I've already pre-programmed the GPS system with the directions to the Cooper Landing Lodge, the only hotel in the city with a five star rating and internet access. Although, the word "city" seems like it's a stretch. With only three hundred and sixty-nine people, I think it's probably better defined as a town or a village.

Cooper Landing is located on the Kenai Peninsula, approximately one hundred miles South of Anchorage. It's an old gold mining town that got electricity in 1962, and its first fire truck in 1975. There's a tackle shop, a liquor store, four bars and eight restaurants. There are some recreational eco tours that take visitors on hikes, kayaking, and fishing. And then, there's Cooper Landing Lodge, owned by Miss Isabella Swan.

I have meticulously planned our twelve days in Cooper Landing down to the minute. I've printed personalized agendas, which I bound at home and gave to the four of them upon our arrival at the airport, exactly two hours before the flight. The agendas are complete with a bear guide, pepper spray, and the necessary emergency protocol should we happen to encounter a bear, which is extremely likely, given our itinerary. Like I said, I like to be prepared.

The Lodge itself is located on Kenai Lake, and has, according to the website and Miss Swan, been recently renovated. Yes, I've called to speak to Miss Swan several times since Emmett decided he was taking us all on this trip… well, quest is more like it. Emmett has been fascinated with bears since we were children, and he saw a documentary on them. This trip is all about him, experiencing a bear in its natural environment. Miss Swan tells me that she sees bears nearly everyday, and that Emmett should have no problem with realizing his dream.

Miss Swan's voice is friendly, and she giggles a lot at my questions, which is not out of the ordinary. Women normally end up laughing at me, but her laugh is more of warm enjoyment, rather than the biting ridicule I'm generally used to.

Miss Swan has told me that the Lodge serves breakfast from six-thirty AM until nine, and then dinner from six PM until ten. There is entertainment in the bar at night, which she assures me will make us feel at home.

I'm skeptical at that statement, since the kind of music that makes me feel at home is classical -Bach, Beethoven, Brahms. You really can't go wrong with the three B's. I know that I will be stepping out of my comfort zone on the entertainment portion of this trip, which is why I have the three B's programmed into my iPod… you know, just in case. I simply cannot picture Bach being played underneath the rustic memorabilia, hunting trophies, and deer antlers, which figure prominently on the Lodge's website.

I've never understood the killing of an animal for sport. It is incomprehensible to me that one could find enjoyment from it and want to mount the remains of the defenseless animal on their wall. To each their own, I suppose.

As I try to finish grading the dismal midterms from my less than stellar students, I think about the conversations I've had to date with Miss Swan. What started out as research into accommodations and activities has turned over the last two weeks into something that I have begun to look forward to.

Miss Swan has been extremely helpful in making suggestions for our itinerary. She has a wealth of knowledge on Alaska and seems genuinely interested in hearing about Seattle. The first time she asked about it, I was taken aback.

We were discussing the various hiking trails in the area near the Lodge, when she asked if I liked to hike in my spare time. As usual, because the conversation drifted from my scripted questions, I stumbled over my words and blurted out to her that I don't go hiking, I run on my very expensive treadmill in my home. It's safer for me, and I'm actually a little worried about hiking in the wilderness of Alaska given my history of clumsiness.

She laughed melodically and told me that if I could master a treadmill, I could surely hike in the woods. She even offered to accompany me. I'm sure she was just being nice. Once she sees that I'm much more comfortable with my nose in the _Financial Post_, I'm sure she'll be taking that hike alone.

A reminder pops up on the computer screen, signaling the first snack break for the trip. I reach into my backpack and pull out five granola bars. I tap Emmett on the shoulder and hand him two. "What's this, dude?" Emmett asks, turning his head back to me.

"Nutrition break."

"They'll give us food, Edward," Emmett says, rolling his eyes at me.

"Airline food is horrific, Emmett. It's all freeze dried and been sitting around for God knows how long," I whisper, passing Jasper two of the organic bars.

"And this is somehow better?" Rosalie's voice drifts to me as I hear them all start to open the wrappers.

"These were made by Mrs. Cope at the Natural Food Pantry two days ago. Yes, these are better," I explain, opening the wrapper and taking a bite.

"These are pretty good, Edward!" Alice says appreciatively as she devours the granola.

After I tell them all to make sure they use their hand sanitizer that I included in their agenda travel pack, I settle back into the seat and set to task on finishing the midterms.

_BTN_

"Oh! Let's take that plane!" Alice's high pitched voice practically sings as she jumps up and down and pulls on Jasper's arm, her hand flailing in the direction of a tiny yellow float plane that's docked in the water while we wait for our rental car to be delivered.

I feel the panic spike almost instantly. This was not in the plan. Jasper looks at me helplessly. "Alice, we have a SUV coming, and part of the trip is seeing the landscape," I explain. "This wasn't part of the plan." I button up my overcoat, wrapping my scarf around my neck, thankful for the fact that I have layers on. It's cooler than it's supposed to be for Alaska in April. The average temperature here in April is thirty-six degrees Fahrenheit, but it feels more like thirty.

I scowl when I look at Emmett's attire, which consists of a thin jacket over a short sleeved t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans with holes in the knees. Did he not read my pre-vacation email where I mapped out suggestions for what to clothes to bring? I hope he's packed something warmer, at least some long sleeved shirts and vests, or he's going to freeze.

"But you could see everything so much better from the air, and we'll be there faster. Please… please? Edward? I really, really want to take a ride in that plane!" Alice yells.

I feel the blood drain from my face as I look at this deathtrap that they are trying to pass off as adequate transportation. When was the last time it was even tested? How many hours has this plane actually flown? It looks to be at least forty years old. Can it even handle five people and the sheer amount of luggage that Alice has brought? The weight from the suitcases alone could crash it.

"I don't think that's a good idea. We need the SUV to get around when we get to the Lodge," I say logically as I fiddle with my hair the way I normally do when I start to feel anxious.

"We can rent one when we get there, Edward. Please? Please? Please?" she asks, her voice rising as the jumping gets higher.

"They probably don't even fly into there," I say, knowing I'm fighting a losing battle. No one else is even trying to talk her out of it.

"Fly into where?" a deep voice asks from behind me. I turn around to see a young, dark haired man, standing with his arms folded across his massive chest, looking thoroughly amused at Alice's desperate plea. He doesn't look dressed appropriately for this weather, either. He's got a black-t-shirt on and a baggy pair of shorts that look a little worse for the wear.

"Cooper Landing. Please tell me you fly there!" Alice squeals, running up to this poor soul and jumping up and down in front of him.

He smirks at her and nods his head. "Yeah, actually, I do. I was just going to make a trip there with some supplies."

"Oh! See! It's fate, Edward," Alice squeals.

"Fate doesn't exist, Alice," I say, feeling my heart hammer faster as I look at the plane skeptically.

I feel a steady hand hit me in the shoulder, quite forcefully, my entire body moving forward with the force of the impact. "Fate is all we have and fate just called your name, Edward, is it?" he asks me.

I nod at him, unable to speak. I can't believe I'm going to get into this pathetic excuse for a plane. This is it. I'm going to die. We're all going to die before we even get to Cooper Landing.

"Name's Jacob Black. I'd be happy to take you, that is, if you're not afraid," he taunts, sauntering towards the plane.

Emmett looks at me anxiously, gauging my reaction like he always does. "What do you think, bro? It would be kind of cool to land on the water," he urges, flashing me his smile that he uses when he really, really wants something.

"Kind of cool? Like how my body temperature is going to feel when we plummet into the ice cold waters of Kenai Lake?" I squeak out.

Jacob laughs and stops in front of the plane. "Kenai Lake is actually warm this time of year… well, as warm as it can be for Alaska. You'll be fine. Trust me." He opens the miniscule door on the side of the plane and lifts his eyebrows to me. "Fate is calling, Edward. What are you going to do?"

I feel all eyes on me as we stand under the crystal blue Alaskan sky, and for the first time in my life, I abandon the plan.

_BTN_

My eyes couldn't get any more clenched shut if I tried. My fingers are permanently embedded in the arm rest of what Jacob Black tells me is a de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver, a single engine, propeller driven bush plane. "They stopped making them in 1967." Somehow, that comment that Jacob yells over the Harley-Davidson like sound of the engine doesn't do anything for my nerves. I'm certain I'm going to pass out. My heart has never beat this fast in my entire life.

Emmett keeps hitting me in the arm and telling me to look, that I'm going to miss the most amazing landscape he's ever seen. That's quite descriptive coming from Emmett, and so, I tentatively open one eye and then the other, and I am indeed treated to the most amazing landscape I've ever seen.

I strain my neck over the aging red life preserver that currently sits around my neck and become awe-struck by the pristine beauty and sheer vastness of the untouched, remote wilderness beneath us. Jacob turns the plane, and we fly close to the sheer rocky edges of a mountain that rises up from the mouth of the glacial lake below us. "Mountain goats to the left," Jacob says, while Emmett laughs loudly beside me.

"How cool is that, bro?" he asks, his smile widening further. As I can't speak, I just nod my head and take another tentative glance out the window to the turquoise water below us that looks like a pane of glass.

I push my glasses up my nose, squinting to make sure I'm seeing properly, and then hit Emmett in the leg. "There's a bear down there, Emmett."

"What? Where?" Emmett pushes his face closer to the window beside him, his mouth dropping open. "Oh, can you go down at bit?" he asks Jacob, tapping him on the shoulder.

"No, I don't think that's necessar—" I start to complain, but its too late. Jacob has already turned the plane on a sharp angle, hurtling towards the rocky bank of whatever lake we are over, getting dangerously close the ground.

"Oh my God! We've only been here an hour and I've already seen a bear!" Emmett's voice is full of excitement, while he stares at the mass of brown fur that blurs before my eyes as we whisk by it and then ascend back up into the clear blue sky.

My stomach is in knots. I'm not going to be able to eat for days, I'm sure. The fact that I haven't vomited yet is a minor miracle. Still, I can't deny how surreal and utterly breathtaking this experience is. Alice is right; we never would have seen the landscape this way from the SUV.

The plane passes over a group of people fly-fishing, and Emmett turns his head to me. "We're doing that, right?" he asks.

"Yes, of course. Well, _you_ are. Tomorrow at seven-thirty AM. You and Jasper have reservations to go salmon fishing on the Kenai River. It's world renowned for it," I tell him, annoyed that he doesn't remember that part of the agenda.

I hear Jacob chuckle and he turns his head towards us. "Been doing a lot of research, there, huh?" he asks, looking thoroughly amused. I, however, am not amused. He's supposed to be concentrating on flying the plane and not turning around in his seat, taking his eyes off of the windshield. It's a wonder we haven't crashed yet. Is he always so reckless?

The plane dips slightly and my stomach goes along with it. "Sorry. Air pocket," Jacob explains, while Alice squeals from the seat in front of me.

"What is the regulated weight for one of these?" I yell.

"Around two thousand pounds. Don't worry. I know there's a lot of suitcases back there, but I don't think we're anywhere near two thousand pounds," Jacob assures me. Jasper snorts and kisses Alice quickly, leaning over to watch out the window on the side.

I nod my head and try to swallow back the lump in my throat. "Hundreds of these are still flying. They were designed for remote areas, like this… places you can only get to by canoe or foot. Just think of it as a half ton truck with wings," Jacob explains happily as we turn in the direction of a body of water. Sorry, I should have said we _dive_ in the direction of a body of water.

I'm sure my eyes are going to pop out of my head as the trees get closer and closer, the water inching its way towards us until I feel the thrust reduce, and the floats touch down, water shooting out from the sides as we glide effortlessly towards a dock at the end of the lake.

"Holy shit!" Rosalie screams, grinning at me like a fool.

I've lost the ability to speak. I have no words for what we've just experienced… sheer adrenaline, pumping, coursing through me like it never has before. I stare out the window at the sprawling wooden lodge that sits nestled back from the lake we are currently skimming across. While I wait for my heart to return to its normal cadence, a welcoming sign with a carved black bear tells me we have finally arrived at Cooper Landing Lodge.

Chapter End Notes:

So, what do you think of our Edward?

Twitter: CarLemon

Visuals for Jacob's plane and Cooper Landing, Alaska which does actually exist: www(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/xx267/CarLemon/By%20The%20Numbers/


	2. Chapter 2

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to my wonderful beta __xrxdanixrx. Check out her amazing story: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. XO. Oh, and she has called dibs on Numberward JSYK._

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. As always, I love to hear what you're thinking.

Chapter Two

_**Edward**_

My stomach heaves as I bend over at the waist, trying not to pass out while the plane bobs in the water beside the dock. The voices around me are mere echoes while I listen to the blood pulse behind my ears. I'm completely frozen. I can hear what sounds like Emmett's voice, moving towards me. He sounds anxious, like he's worried about me. "Shit! Edward! He's pale as a ghost. Jazz, help me. We need to get him off..."

I can hear no more as I clench my eyes tighter, trying to drown out everything and concentrate on breathing. I'm practically hyperventilating as I feel Emmett's massive arms lift me from the seat and pull me out of the plane. My hand makes contact with the wooden slats of a rickety dock and my lungs explode as the cleanest air I've ever experienced fills them.

I sit on the dock, with the aging red life vest still around my neck while I try to take a series of deliberate breathes before I deal with instant mortification. Breathe in… two… three… four. Breathe out two… three… four.

The four of them have witnessed one of my mini panic attacks. Jacob Black, however, has not, and I instantly feel like an absolute idiot. There was nothing wrong with his plane, his flying, or even the landing, and yet, here I am, unable to gracefully exit and thank the man for the surreal experience I've just been on.

"Is he okay?" I hear Jacob's voice beside me and see him squatting down, his strong hand on my shoulder. Yes… that makes me feel oh so much better.

"Yeah. He'll be alright." Emmett's voice drifts to me, and I know exactly what he's about to do; deflect attention from his freakish brother while I try to gather what's left of my pride. "This place is awesome! Jacob, do you live around here?" he asks, while I see him move down the dock.

Jacob thankfully is up and following Emmett like a little lost dog, prattling on about his home, which is indeed in Cooper Landing. I manage to catch the fact that he lives with his father while I push myself up from the dock and try to stand on my shaking legs.

Rosalie is beside me in an instant, smiling up at me warmly. "We made it," she says, lifting her eyebrows to me. "Welcome back." I smile weakly at her and have to steady myself on her arm as the dock sways beneath me.

I then hear the sounds of feet, running quickly along the dock. I look up the length of it, pushing my glasses back into place and pulling down on the life vest that seems to want to lodge itself into my throat.

"Jacob!" A melodic voice I immediately recognize causes my breath to catch in my throat while I watch as a petite framed young woman hurls herself at Jacob, her dark hair flowing behind her. He catches her and twirls her around in a circle before setting her down a little more firmly than I think he should.

"Jeez, Bells. If that's the kind of greeting you're going to give me, I'll go away more often," Jacob says, smiling down at her in a way that is all too friendly.

Her smile radiates while she shakes her head at Jacob and hits him playfully in the chest. She pushes her hair behind her shoulder, giving me a glance at her neck. Her skin is incredible… smooth and creamy; her laugh while he tries to tickle her is something I want to hear more of. It's intoxicating, enchanting almost, and I'm thrust back to the conversations we've had over the last few weeks. Her laugh sounds even more delightful in person.

But _Bells_? I detest that nickname. I detest _any _nickname. I've been Eddie, Eds, Edweirdo, Ednerd, a whole host of nicknames that I would rather never think about again. It is common courtesy to refer to someone in their given name. It's a show of respect; something which has been extremely hard to come by in my life. My name is Edward, and her name is Isabella. Isabella Swan, and she is a breath of fresh air.

She's also dressed inappropriately; a thin, blue short sleeved sweater and a simple white flowing skirt with sandals. How do these people not have pneumonia? I've got three layers of clothes on underneath my overcoat and I'm still chilled. I can feel the warmth of her laugh as it floats to me, and I strain my neck around Emmett's massive frame to try to get a closer look at her.

"Stop it, Jacob. Leah is stoked that you're back. She's got a zillion wedding plans that you need to go over," Isabella starts, eyeing the plane curiously. "And I, as the maid of honour, would not be doing my job if I didn't demand that you go and see her immediately."

"You don't have to ask me twice, Bells." I cringe at the nickname again. "It's been a week since I've… well, you know," Jacob taunts, turning to us and winking. Jacob Black is a dog of the lowest form. This Leah is clearly his fiancée, and he has shown nothing but disrespect for her with his last statement.

"Gross! I don't need the details. Just go," she says, laughing and pushing him up the dock.

"Oh, there's the matter of payment, Jacob." How I manage to find my voice is a miracle.

He turns around and waves me off. "I'll get you later, Eddie," he yells to me. "I've got _business_ to take care of." And with those words, my initial assessment of Jacob being a dog is confirmed.

I roll my eyes and turn to gather my luggage, my hands still shaking slightly. Flying in a float plane is not something I'm going to be doing again anytime soon. I pick up my laptop bag and swing it over my shoulder. As I fight with the handle on my luggage, I hear Emmett introducing himself and Rosalie while Alice barks orders at Jasper regarding her luggage.

Once the handle is finally up, I turn, taking a step at the same time and nearly crashing into Isabella. My breathing hitches as I stare down into the most inviting eyes I've ever seen. "Edward?" Isabella asks innocently, gazing up at me expectantly. My heart leaps into my throat as my name leaves her lips.

I just blink down at her. I can't form a word. I run my fingers through my hair and shift nervously, looking anywhere but at her. "I thought you were coming in a SUV?" she presses, staring right at me… right into me.

I open my mouth and nothing comes out. "We had a change of plans," Alice says quickly, coming to my rescue, yet again. "I'm Alice." Alice hugs Isabella like she's known her forever and then proceeds to introduce Jasper to her, since I have lost the ability to speak in her presence.

Isabella turns her attention back to me while I concentrate on not making an utter fool of myself. "You look a little pale, Edward. Traveling can take a lot out of you, and I'm sure Jacob was showing off in his stupid plane. Maybe you want a beer or something to chill out? We can pop up to the bar before I show you to your cabins," she offers.

I nod my head and try to smile at her. Alice wraps her arm around her shoulder and starts up the dock with Rosalie, the pair of them nattering on to Isabella the entire time.

I stare after them, watching as Isabella turns back and smiles at me while my heart leaps into a sprint. Her look back is only for the briefest of moments, but once again, I'm frozen where I stand. I watch her lithe frame sway up the dock, her feet hopping over the stray rocks along the path to the Lodge.

I regain my bearings, only due to Jasper's laboured grunts as he tries to manage with the inconceivable number of bags that Alice has brought with her. "Let me help, Jasper," I offer, bending down to pick up one of the bags.

He quirks a smile to me and shakes his head. "I've got this. I'm used to it by now. You go get a drink and try to relax," Jasper urges. "I'll be up in a few."

"Thanks," I say quietly, adjusting my laptop bag and taking hold of the handle on my suitcase again. I drag it behind me over the slats in the dock as it sways precariously. Is it even safe? It looks to be fifty years old and there are even boards missing from it.

The dock heaves further as Emmett sprints along it, catching up to me. "You okay, bro? That was a bad one, huh?" he asks.

"It wasn't one of my finer moments," I grumble.

"Oh, it's alright, Edward. You did great. You can probably lose the life preserver now, though," he says, tugging on the red fabric that is still around my neck.

Wonderful. Isabella has seen me pale as a ghost, completely unable to form a sentence, and standing before her in a red, puffy life preserver. There's a vivid impression I'm sure will be the subject of conversation at some point during her evening.

I stop and set my bags down, removing the life vest and placing it on the dock. "Jacob can put it back when his _business _has concluded," I state.

Emmett lifts his eyebrows to me and smirks in approval. "Nice, bro. You _have _learned something from me, after all," he says, hitting me on the back and taking off up the dirt path towards the Lodge.

I'm only halfway up the path when my conscious wins the battle and I drop my bags, moving quickly back to the life vest. What if someone picked up the vest and took it, leaving Jacob without the proper safety equipment? What if he thought I was being disrespectful to him, just leaving it there after he went out of his way to bring us here? It's really the least the least I can do to return it to its proper place.

I pass Jasper, who is somehow balancing all of Alice's bags, and gingerly reach across to the plane, opening the door on the side. I toss the life vest on one of the seats and shut the door, instantly feeling calmer. I breathe a pathetic sigh of relief… one less thing I need to worry about.

_BTN_

"There must be some mistake, Miss Swan. We booked the renovated rooms." These are the first complete sentences that I've spoken to Isabella. I stand in my "upgraded and recently renovated room" and scowl at the décor.

The cabin itself is quite nice and smells of cedar; however, there are deer antlers hanging up on the wall over a rustic queen sized bed, which is draped in a quilt that looks to be from the turn of the century. It contains equal amounts of dust, as evidenced by the thin cloud which rises when I set my laptop bag on it.

"These _are_ the renovated room," she confirms. "And please, call me Bella." I look at her skeptically and then scan the walls which are a dull grey colour, with several cracks stretching down from the ceiling. The area rug under the bed is a golden hue and appears to be from the 1970s. There is a small wooden desk that faces a panoramic window and provides a breathtaking view of the mountains; however; there does not appear to be an electrical or telephone outlet near the desk.

"I thought you said there was internet access here?" I ask, trying not sound like a prude.

"There is. Dial up is in the office at the main part of the Lodge," she says plainly.

"Dial up?" _Does that even exist anymore? _

She is clearly amused at my reaction, and her brilliant, warm smile fills her face. "You're on vacation, Edward. Why do you need the internet, anyway? Anything you could possibly want is right here, in front of you." She motions to the open window and the view of the mountains, but all I can see is her.

She's absolutely radiant. Completely and totally relaxed, a permanent smile etched on her beautiful face. Her skin is flawless, no doubt from the clean air here, and her body is clearly toned and… I turn away from her, shutting my eyes. I'm no better than Jacob Black if I think about a woman I've only just met this way.

"Edward?" Her voice instantly calms me, and I feel her small hand on my shoulder. "Is the room okay? It's the best view we have," she says gently. And now, I feel horrible for implying her accommodations were anything less than adequate.

"It's fine. Thank you, Isabella," I say, keeping my eyes shut and trying not to pass out from the warmth that is spreading from my shoulder, right through me.

I feel her move in front of me, the weight of her gaze burning through my closed eyes. "You'll feel better once you rest up. Dinner starts at six in the restaurant. You'll join us, won't you?" she asks.

I open my eyes and get lost in hers as she waits patiently for me to answer." Of course. We would love to." Was that just an invitation I accepted? No. Of course not. She's simply being a gracious host. "Thank you. Will you add the drinks we had earlier to my bill?" I ask.

She giggles and shakes her head at me. "You had ice water and the rest of your crew just had a beer. It's no big deal, Edward." She brushes me off dismissively.

I narrow my eyes at her, confused at her nonchalant attitude. "Isabella, you'll never make any money if you plan on giving away alcoholic beverages to my brother and Jasper," I say seriously.

She throws her head back, laughing loudly. "It's just beer. We always have more."

"But if they all had beer, we should pay for it," I argue.

She giggles again and squeezes my shoulder. "I don't keep track of how many beers people have. Where's the fun in that?" she asks, smirking at me and sitting down on the edge of the bed. She crosses one leg over the other and bounces her foot in the air, leaning back on her elbows and studying me closely.

I shift nervously, running my hands through my hair as I try not to look at her creamy, bare legs. I shut my eyes, willing my racing heart to calm before speaking again. "Is that common practice for you? Not keeping a record of your beverage sales?" I ask, totally floored that she wouldn't know exactly how much the Lodge is making in this particular area.

"Not really. I mean, people pay for the rooms, they usually pay for meals, and the drinks are just… well,part of it all, I guess," she says casually while she twirls a strand of her hair between her fingers.

"But this isn't an all inclusive resort. If you're giving drinks away, you're losing money," I state the obvious.

She scoffs at me and bounces up off the bed. "It doesn't really matter, anyway. I just want people to have a good time when they're here. We'll see you tonight, okay?" She moves to the door, and I struggle to find the words to ask her stay. I'm not nearly done with this conversation. If I'm being honest, I'm not nearly done with _any_ conversation that involves Isabella Swan.

"Until tonight, then," I say. She turns from the door and smiles up at me, her eyes lighting up briefly, or that could just be the sheer exhaustion from traveling. That's probably what's happening, right now. I feel lightheaded while I watch her back up from me and then turn, running quickly down the stairs from my balcony.

I quietly shut the door and turn back to the room to start the process of unpacking. I don't know why I get so worked up about things that shouldn't matter, like the state of my current accommodations. _Predictability, order, expectation._ Right- that would be why. Still, I should learn to not pass judgment until I've completed a thorough examination.

The cabin is clean, save for the dusty bed. The closet space is ample, the bathroom is simple, but spotless, and as Isabella so rightly pointed out, the view is wonderful. There are even fresh blue flowers on the nightstand beside me. I lower my nose to inhale them, wondering if Isabella picked these herself. The sneeze that results is unexpected. I'm not allergic to anything. I hope that I'm not coming down with something.

I remove my scarf, hanging it up along with my overcoat in the closet, which smells like pine needles. Normally, I would be turned off by fragrance of any sort, but this is not unpleasant. I move to my suitcase and open it, inspecting the results of it being no doubt manhandled by the luggage crew at Air Northern.

Things look relatively intact and in place under the tight elastic that holds the clothing in place. I retrieve my toiletry bag and fish out my bottle of Vitamin C. I chew up a tablet, making a mental note to take two more before I retire for the evening, in the hopes that it will help to ward off any further signs of illness.

I search for an ironing board and find an aging one with little bears on the cover in the closet. The iron appears also to be from the 1970s, but a quick clean of the surface with one of the many plush towels from the bathroom reveals it to be in excellent working order.

An hour later, all of my button down shirts and t-shirts have been properly pressed and are hanging up in the closet alongside my sweaters and vests. Ironing in front of the large picture window, with the mountains as my backdrop and the sounds of birds chirping through the screen is soothing.

I pause before starting on my slacks, moving back to the flowers beside the bed. I don't recognize them, and I wonder what kind they are. I will have to ask Isabella this evening.

Another unexpected sneeze sends my glasses practically flying off my nose as I place the vase back onto the nightstand. That is just not going to do. I can't spend all night sleeping beside these flowers, which are clearly eliciting a negative response.

I move the vase reluctantly to the desk by the window, lying down on the bed to test that I can still see them. I can, and so I don't feel too badly about moving them. I'm starting to press my khaki slacks when Emmett's face pressed up against the window screen startles me.

"Dude! You have to come out here and see this!" he urges.

"I'm rather busy at the moment."

"Get your ass out here!" he yells through the screen.

I shoot him an unimpressed look before unplugging the iron and joining him outside. "What is so important?" I ask, my tone clearly icy. The air feels warmer than it was, but I'm still glad to be wearing layers. Emmett, however, has changed clothes and is in shorts and t-shirt, his eyes fixated on the edge of the forest.

"There's a moose over there," he whispers, pointing in the direction of a dense line of trees and pulling me down wooden the stairs to the ground below.

I narrow my eyes and adjust my glasses once we've reached the bottom. "Where? I don't see anything," I say, squinting further. And then, the massive, majestic animal steps into the clearing.

I feel my jaw drop at the sheer size of it. The antlers are enormous and the animal is clearly staring at us. I feel the panic spike. "We shouldn't be out here, right now. He looks upset," I whisper, inching back to the stairs.

"Relax. He's fine. He's just checking us out," Emmett says, leaning against the side of the cabin and keeping his eyes locked to the animal. "This place is awesome!" His voice rises, startling the moose, which huffs- a sound I can hear clear across the open field- and then disappears back into the labyrinth of trees.

"Would you keep your voice down!" I whisper-yell. The last thing we need is an upset moose on our hands.

"I just wanted you to see him," Emmett says, patting me on the back. "Not everyday you get to see a moose."

"No, it's certainly not. Oh, we're to be in the restaurant for dinner at six. Well, that's when Isabella says dinner starts."

"Isabella, huh? No more Miss Swan?" he teases, waggling his eyebrows at me.

I furrow my brow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You on a first name basis with a woman so fast is impressive, bro; although, the whole _Miss Swan_ thing is kind of hot. I could use that on Rosie. Miss Hale, I need your attention here on the bed," he says in a fake British accent.

I feel the heat rise in my face at his blatant innuendo. "What's the matter with you? There is nothing sexual about calling Miss… Isabella by her formal name."

He smirks and shakes his head at me. "Dude, you are in trouble."

"Trouble?"

"Yeah. Trouble. About time." He hits me in the shoulder, taking off across the field. "I'm going to try to find that moose. I'll see you at dinner!" he yells over his shoulder.

"Be careful, Emmett!" I yell, even though he's already disappeared into the mass of trees. I hope he has his pepper spray, his compass, a flashlight… the number of things that Emmett could get into in the woods by himself is staggering. Hopefully, he won't go far.

I try to push the worry about Emmett to the back of my mind while I finish pressing my slacks. By the time they are hanging up, I can feel the exhaustion of the travel today starting to creep in. I take off my vest and my button down shirt, hanging them up on the opposite end of the closet from the freshly pressed items.

After removing and hanging up my trousers, I crawl into the bed, pulling up the quilt around my neck. Despite the dust that I'm trying really hard not to think about, the bed is extremely comfortable. The thread count on the sheets is clearly not as high as I would normally like, but they are soft, warm and put me at ease. As my eyes drift shut, I wonder if Isabella made the bed.

_BTN_

I strain my neck up as discreetly as I can, hoping to get a glimpse of Isabella while we sit at the table in the restaurant, waiting for the main course. Every time the door to the restaurant opens, or someone emerges from the kitchen, my heart speeds up. I'm having trouble trying to rationalize why that is.

Isabella Swan is a virtual stranger, but I don't want her to be. Regarding women, I only have my experience with Jessica to compare to. Jessica never produced this kind of reaction in me.

Yes, she was attractive and she enjoyed my company, mostly I think because I spoke little and argued even less. I essentially let her make every single decision in our relationship… if that's even what it was. I simply didn't care which movie we went to, or which restaurant we tried, or even which lingerie she slept in. I was just amazed that anyone would want to take the time to be seen with me in public.

It also helped that Jessica understood my schedule; that I could only see her on Saturdays and Monday evenings. It worked well for us, even though I realize now that meant she was spending the rest of her time with that "fuck-hot lover" who I could only "dream to be as good as."

As the main course arrives, I resign myself to the fact Isabella is otherwise occupied. To say I'm disappointed is an understatement, but she does have this entire Lodge to tend to. I wonder briefly how she manages to do it all by herself. It's surely a daunting task… the food supplies alone would be a nightmare to plan, given the distance Cooper Landing is from any real form of civilization.

I dig into my grilled Alaskan Salmon and take a moment to survey the restaurant which is full to capacity. It's rustic and warm, with crisp white linens on the table and polished silver. The plates, so far, have all been different, which Alice tells me is a trend. I find it rather distracting, but the food has been wonderful, clearly fresh and local, the flavours literally exploding in my mouth.

Emmett continues to order beer for himself and Jasper, and wine for the ladies, faster than our server can bring it out. I'm taking another large bite of the salmon when I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. "Enjoying everything so far?" Isabella's sweet voice is like melting chocolate, and I quickly rise out my seat, swallowing my bite of salmon in the process.

"Would you care to join us?" I squeak out, issuing both Emmett and Jasper a pointed look. Have they learned nothing from me? It's a simple sign of respect to rise from the table when a woman is about to sit down. I know it's not a modern notion, but I still do it, along with opening doors and letting a woman off an elevator before anyone else. Sometimes, I think I should have been born in a different time where such actions were customary.

Isabella looks up at me as if I'm from another planet. Clearly, this is not something that she is used to, either. "Thanks, Edward, but the kitchen is crazy, and I really need to help out back there. Are you guys going to come to the bar after? There's a band coming," she explains as my mood falls with the news that she won't be joining us for dinner.

"Sign me up!" Emmett says enthusiastically, taking a long swig from his beer bottle.

"Ohhh! That sounds fun!" Alice practically squeals, clapping her hands. "I love to hear live bands."

"Great! The band usually gets here around ten-thirty or eleven," Isabella says excitedly.

"Eleven at night?" I ask. I'm usually asleep by then. I feel Emmett hit me in my shin with his foot, and I wince slightly, gripping the chair to keep from falling over. "That sounds lovely." I glare at Emmett while he smirks at me.

Isabella smiles up at me and takes a step back, biting down on her bottom lip nervously. "Until tonight, then," she says shyly. My heart swells at hearing my words from earlier today fall from her lips. I stay standing, watching as she moves through the restaurant, checking on each of the tables as she makes her way back to the kitchen.

She's simply stunning, dressed casually in a pink sweater and a pair of loose fitting jeans, her hair pulled back into a pony tail. I look down nervously at my typical layers… a white t-shirt under a dark grey button down shirt, under a black vest, a grey striped tie with a classic Windsor knot around my neck and a pair of black dress pants. Am I overdressed? Emmett and Jasper both have jeans on, which is normal. Rosalie and Alice seem to have put more care into their attire, each of them wearing dresses. I have no idea about fashion. This has always felt comfortable to me, but seeing how casual and at ease Isabella is, it makes me second guess myself.

"Edward? I think it's safe to sit down, now," Rosalie says, smiling at me. "Why don't you ever do that?" She narrows her eyes at Emmett.

"Do what, hun?" he asks, cutting his steak vigorously.

"Stand up when I come to the table?"

"Babe, you know me. What you see is what you get. I'm not into all that romantic shit," he says, with his mouth full.

I roll my eyes and sit back down, repositioning the napkin over my lap in an attempt to hide the embarrassing fact that I seem to have an erection… for the first time, in a very long time. _Oh God!_ I hope no one saw that! I glance around the room nervously, but no one seems the wiser.

"You could learn a thing or two from your brother," Rosalie says, drinking back the remnants of her wine.

"I know, babe. I'm a work in progress, but you still love me," Emmett replies, kissing her on the top of the head.

As we finish our meal, and I watch the couples interact around me- intimate touches, shared laughs only they understand- I wonder if that will ever be me. More importantly, I wonder if that will ever be me with Isabella.

Chapter End Notes:

Well, what do you think of our Edward now?

Up next, a band at 11:00! Imagine that! How _will _he stay awake?

Updates…we're going for weekly.

Twitter: CarLemon


	3. Chapter 3

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful story: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. She has dibs on Numberward, JSYK. Much love, hun. I couldn't do it without you. XO_

_Thanks to all those reading and reviewing! On with the evening…_

Chapter 3

_**Edward**_

I sip my cranberry juice while I sit with Alice and Rosalie in a warm booth in the bar. Despite the deer antlers hanging up on the wall beside me, the decor is welcoming; muted beige tones with pine chairs, and a long wooden bar that takes up one entire side of the room. There is stone fireplace and a small parquet floor in front of an even smaller stage. I'm assuming that's the dance floor. I shudder at the thought, praying that I can excuse myself before Emmett tries to get me to dance. I've had enough mortification for one day, thank you.

On the stage sits a Steinway upright piano that looks like it has seen better days. I wonder if it has been properly preserved. Judging from the amount of dust on the wood, and the fact that it seems to have been reduced to a storage location for drink menus, I'm thinking the answer is no. I shudder at the blatant disregard for this incredible instrument. A Steinway should be polished and cared for.

Emmett and Jasper return to the table with yet another tray of colourful drinks for the ladies. "Oh! Martinis!" Alice says excitedly. I get up to let Emmett in to sit beside Rosalie while I glance at the front door for the twenty-eighth time. Yes, I've been counting.

"You're having these added to your bill, correct?" I ask, sitting down beside Emmett.

"Dude at the bar didn't ask for a room number or money. I guess we just pay before we leave," Emmett says.

I scan the bar for said "dude" and find a middle-aged, dark haired man with a prominent moustache, laughing and happily refilling the empty glasses that line the bar in front of him. There doesn't seem to be a cash register anywhere, and neither the bartender nor the waitresses are leaving bills for payment. How are these people keeping track of their beverage sales?

That nagging question is quickly obliterated when I hear her unmistakeable laugh floating to me from the direction of the bar. I find her, hugging the bartender in a warm embrace. They have the same dark hair... it must be a relative, perhaps her father? I watch as she makes casual conversation with the patrons seated at the bar, totally relaxed and open.

She lifts her head and her eyes find mine, a smile breaking across her face. She moves towards our booth, holding my gaze. I miraculously find the muscles to move my legs, rising from the seat as she reaches our booth. "Good evening, Isabella. Would you care to sit?" I ask, pushing my glasses back up. Maybe I should have worn contacts this evening.

"Sure." She turns to pull a chair over from one of the empty tables beside us.

"Let me get that," I say, stumbling forward, trying to get to the chair before her.

"It's okay. I think I can handle a chair, Edward," she says, sinking down into it.

"These are the best martinis I've ever had," Alice raves, taking a large gulp while I sit down and try not to make a fool out of myself, again.

"Dad makes a mean martini," Isabella says. Ah, he _is_ her father. I suppose I should introduce myself.

_You have only just met her. You have not earned the right to meet her father._

"Would you care for a drink?" I ask, getting ready to leap up to order one for her. She seems like a martini kind of girl, but perhaps a chardonnay would be more appropriate.

"Beer?" Emmett asks, waggling the crude bottle in the air. My brother's Neanderthal tendencies are in fine form tonight. I kick him under the table, payback for his little manoeuvre earlier today, and he knits his brow at me.

"Awesome! Thanks, Emmett," she says. I watch while she tips the bottle back, her perfect lips wrapping around the opening as she swallows back several consecutive gulps. That was certainly unexpected, and now, as a result, I have yet another unexpected erection pressing against my trousers. I shift uncomfortably, trying to find a position that isn't painful.

Isabella launches easily into conversation, asking us more about Seattle. She seems fascinated by the fact that there are some restaurants and stores that are open twenty-four hours a day. It's a good thing that the four of them are here, because once again, I can't seem to find my voice.

I'm utterly enthralled by her, content just to watch... how her fingers trace the opening of the beer bottle before she takes a sip, how she plays absentmindedly with her hair, twirling a long strand between her fingers, how she laughs so freely with the four of them, the sound landing right in my heart.

"Couldn't you, Edward?" I only catch the last three words of Rosalie's sentence. _Couldn't I what?_

"Umm," I stammer, my heart racing at being so out of touch with the conversation. Isabella is going to think I'm an idiot.

"Don't be shy now, bro. You're awesome," Emmett says as all eyes fall to me.

"Awesome?" There is nothing I'm awesome at... well, maybe Jeopardy and itemizing tax deductions, but I'm fairly certain that's not what we're talking about.

"How long have you been playing, Edward?" Isabella asks, turning to me.

"Playing?" Maybe we _are_ talking about Jeopardy. Could she be a fan?

"The piano, Edward," Jasper says, nodding his head in the direction of the Steinway.

"Oh. I'm not awesome at that. I have no classical training at all," I confirm. Although, I do have hours of training that Mom provided at home. While Emmett was busy with practices for every sport team imaginable, Mom was teaching me scales on our piano at home. Scales quickly turned into complex pieces that I can easily play from memory; although, I only sit down to play during Sunday afternoon meals at home, and that's mostly for Mom's enjoyment.

"Aw, come on, Edward. It doesn't look like the band is going to make it," Emmett says.

I feel the sweat start to bead almost immediately. I've only ever played for my family, Jasper, Alice, and Rosalie. I don't like attention, and playing the piano in this bar would definitely draw attention.

Isabella looks up at me hopefully, her big eyes practically pleading. I don't want to disappoint her, but there is also no possible way I can do this. I have no experience with this piano. How old is it, anyway? When was the last time it was properly tuned? I haven't had any time to prepare an appropriate piece. What would I play for the patrons here? I'm fairly certain Brahms is not what they are hoping to hear.

"Actually, it's getting rather late, and I'm quite tired from traveling," I say, providing a believable excuse that I hope she doesn't think is too lame.

"That's okay. We always have the karaoke machine," Isabella says happily. Nothing seems to faze her.

"Dude! You _have_ to stay for that!" Emmett says, hitting me in the arm. "I'm the king of karaoke!" He may as well be announcing it over a loud speaker.

"Oh, really?" Jasper replies, clearly accepting Emmett's challenge. "We'll see about that."

Isabella sets her finished bottle of beer on the table and pushes back from the table. I'm up and out of my seat immediately. She looks up at me, smiling and shaking her head. "Did you want to help me get the machine out?" she asks.

"Um... sure." As I follow her behind the bar and into a small back office, I hope that this karaoke machine isn't too heavy. While I have managed to master the treadmill, lifting any sort of weight has never been my strong suit, and I'm clumsy at the best of times. Perhaps I should ask for Emmett's assistance.

"In here," Isabella calls, disappearing into a closet behind a rickety desk that is strewn with papers. I glance up and notice more antlers on the wall, wondering if her father is the resident hunter.

I stand at the open door to the closet, frozen in place as I watch her bend over and try to pull the large karaoke machine from under a pile of other boxes. Her sweater moves up her back slightly, revealing her creamy, white skin, and I feel my erection strain against my zipper once again.

"Isabella, let me help you," I manage to squeak out, simply because if I watch her any longer, I'm not sure I will be able to control myself.

She stands up and adjusts her sweater, scowling at the boxes. "I don't know why its shoved way back in there."

"Is this not where you normally would store it?" I ask, lifting one of the boxes off the top of the machine. Thankfully, the box is not heavy.

"It doesn't really have a normal spot. I just put it wherever there's room," she says, taking the box from me and setting it on the desk. The fact that she doesn't have the machine in a secure storage location is concerning. What's even more worrisome is the fact that the boxes, which I continue to hand her, seem to be full of receipts and unopened envelopes. I'm not being nosey; the box I'm currently holding has no lid, and I can see its contents clearly.

"What are all of these?" I ask, handing her the last box.

She takes it from me and waves me off. "Just old receipts and stuff."

I pull the karaoke machine, extracting it from the closet. "And you don't have them filed or itemized?"

She giggles, and I narrow my eyes at her. "I don't really have a filing system," she admits.

"But these appear to be important," I press.

Her expression changes as she looks into one of the boxes. "I'm horrible at filing, and even if I managed to figure it out, I'm sure I'd never remember whatever system I came up with. This way, they're all in one place," she explains.

_All in one place? _How does she sleep at night with this taxation disaster brewing? _I'm_ not going to sleep tonight knowing what a disorganized mess this is.

"I could help you," I blurt out.

She leans against the desk and crosses her arms, an amused expression on her face. "How much?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How much do you charge?" she asks.

"I wouldn't charge you. Don't be silly." I would welcome the chance to help her with this… to spend more time with her.

"Didn't you scold me this afternoon about giving away things for free?"

"Scold? I didn't... I just..." She lifts her eyebrows to me, and I cave. "You have a fair point," I admit in defeat.

"How about this? You can help with these," she says, picking up a handful of receipts and letting them fall back into the box, "and I will take you on one of those hikes I told you about."

"That hardly seems fair for you, Isabella. I'm sure you have much more important and interesting things to do other than to shepherd me around in the forest." Oh, that sounded whiny, even to me.

"Did you or did you not tell me that you wanted to go hiking while you were here?" she asks, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side.

"Yes, but—"

She smiles and puts her fingers to my lips. Her skin feels silken, smooth, electric. I'm sure she must be able to hear my heart through the three layers of clothing. "But nothing. A proper hike with a guide would cost you money. Consider it your payment for services rendered."

My mouth goes dry as I stare back at her. I'm breathing so heavily with the sheer potential of spending alone time with Isabella in the depths of the Alaskan forest that my glasses are starting to fog. "Deal?" she asks. I simply nod my head. "Good. Now, let's get this machine out there and see what your brother can do."

_BTN_

Eight. The number of songs Emmett and Jasper have sung.

1985 through1989. The date range in which all of the songs they have sung were released.

Four. The number of times her hand has brushed against my arm.

One. A very large erection that I cannot get rid of.

It is difficult to tell who the crowd is routing for as Emmett and Jasper take turns belting out hits from the late 1980s. I've had to endure Wham, Bon Jovi, even Whitesnake, God help me. There seems to be equal amounts of applause for both of them, and debased cat calls when Alice and Rosalie take the stage.

Still, I have to admit, I am enjoying myself, probably due to the fact that Isabella seems content to sit beside me, laughing and singing along with all of them. Apparently, karaoke here is a group event, with the audience joining in during most of the choruses.

I am also feeling extremely tired. It's twelve thirty-eight. The last time I was up past eleven o'clock was when I did a favour for one of Mom's friends and assisted with filing their taxes before the midnight deadline. I would have been done a lot sooner, but they didn't even contact Mom until ten o'clock. Who leaves filing their taxes until the final hour?

As Jasper brings home the final bars of _Every Rose Has It's Thorn_, I pray that is the last of it. The crowd erupts into cheers and Emmett shakes his head. "There's always next time, Jazz. Always next time," Emmett says, fist pumping Jasper as he sits down, a smug look on his face.

"I love Poison," Isabella says. I just about spit out my sparkling water as I look at her in disbelief. How is that possible? No one _loves_ Poison. There is nothing to love about a band of long, greasy haired, dishevelled, in-your-face men whose entire existence is based upon a lead singer that has now resorted to reality television in order to obtain women.

I shudder at the brief five minutes of that dreadful show that I walked in on, while Emmett, Rosalie, Alice, and Jasper sat glued to the television as if they were watching the _Jeopardy Tournament of Champions._

"What? You don't like them?" Isabella asks, looking at me in disbelief.

"Ah, they're not exactly my preferred genre of music." I don't want to offend her, but seriously? If Poison is the type of music she likes to listen to, we may have a problem. What am I thinking? _We may have a problem? _I've known her for less than twenty-four hours.

She lifts an eyebrow to me. "And what exactly _is_ your preferred genre of music?"

I feel all eyes on me again as the heat rises in my face. "I enjoy the classics," I answer. Who doesn't? What's not to like about a soothing piece of classical music after a long day at work?

"Classics, huh?" I nod as she pulls on my arm, standing up in the process. "Come with me," she says forcefully.

She marches to the karaoke machine, dragging me along behind her. I feel like I'm going to pass out. The entire bar is staring at us…at me as I stand beside her like a fool. "What are you doing?" I hiss.

"Finding a classic."

"Isabella, I'm not… I…" I can't speak as I watch her press a button and turn to me, her eyes alive, on fire almost.

"Just sing with me." She holds a microphone up to me, and I take a step back from her.

"I… I don't sing," I argue, wanting the stage to just swallow me up. I glance at our table and Emmett and Jasper are standing, giving me the thumbs up and clapping loudly already. Rosalie and Alice look to be in shock.

"Everyone sings, Edward." The first bars of the song start. I think I recognize it, but it's definitely not a classic. "You heard Alice, she sounded horrible. No one cares. It's fun. Trust me."

We stand, staring at each other in silent challenge mode. I adjust my glasses, my heart hammering in my chest while I listen to the familiar melody. I remember Emmett and Mom singing this song in the kitchen. But I don't _do_ karaoke. I don't' do deliberate public displays of embarrassment. I do just fine embarrassing myself accidentally. She grabs my hand and turns to the little screen on the machine. The song is now almost two thirds over. What good is it to start a song when it's almost complete? My palms are all sweaty. I'm barely able to keep the microphone in my hand.

But, then, she starts to sing. Full out, no holding back, at the top of her lungs singing.

_You're a candle in the wind,_

_On a cold, dark winter's night_

_And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might_

Good lord, she's completely off key and it couldn't sound any better to me.

"Come on, Edward!" she urges, squeezing my hand tightly. And so, I focus on the little screen, swallow back the massive lump in my throat, and just sing.

_I've forgotten what I started fighting for_

_And if I have to crawl across the floor_

_Come crashing through your door_

_I can't fight this feeling anymore_

I am beyond mortified as the song ends and the realization of what I've just done hits me. The bar erupts into applause. Emmett and Jasper are jumping up and down in the booth and whistling as I stand in shock beside her.

"See? Fun, right?" she asks, looking up at me, her eyes alight. And in this moment, with the crowd cheering and Alice chanting for an encore, something changes. It's not earth shattering or mind altering, but it _is_ there.

I hand her back the microphone and smile at her. "Fun, yes. But for future reference, REO Speedwagon is _not _a classic," I state the obvious.

She laughs, shaking her head at me as I exit the stage, waiting for her. She follows quickly after handing off the microphone to the next pour soul, and we move back to the table.

"Dude! That was just… I don't even know. That was major!" Emmett yells, slapping me on the back and sending me forward with the force of his hand. You would think he would have learned by now how strong he is.

"Yes, thank you, Emmett. You can lower your voice now." I take a stealthy glance of the room, but they are already enthralled with the next performance. Perhaps I wasn't as bad as I think.

"Seriously, Edward. You were amazing," Rosalie says, tilting her glass in my direction before gulping back whatever cocktail was in it.

Alice just keeps jumping in her seat while Jasper smirks at me. "Nicely done, my man," he says.

I smile back at him, but honestly, I've had enough of being the center of attention. "Well, I think I've had enough excitement for one evening. I'm going to call it a night."

"Oh, me, too. Dad is closing up tonight, and I have an early morning tomorrow," Isabella says.

"I can see you home," I offer, staring down at her.

"See me home?" she asks, looking at me skeptically.

Why is this a foreign concept to her? "Yes. It's late. It's dark, and there are animals in the woods."

She bites her lip. "I've been walking home at night alone since I was thirteen. I think I can handle it," she replies gently.

"It would make me feel better, knowing that you were home safely," I urge. I really don't want to come off as overbearing or rude, and this is just common courtesy. Has no one ever offered to walk her home? Where was her good friend, Jacob Black, when she was walking home alone at night? I don't think I want to know the answer to that.

"Okay," she says.

I gather my overcoat, and I remind Alice and Rosalie of the all natural spa treatments I have booked for them at the neighbouring establishment in the morning. We say our goodnights, and I move to the door, holding it open for her. She shakes her head, walking out into the cool night air. I'm glad for my coat, but she must be freezing.

"Take my coat. It's cold," I offer as she walks beside me.

"I'm okay. It's not that cold. It's a nice night," she says, looking up at the dark sky. The moon is barely visible, and there is a smattering of stars in the sky. "So, do you always do this?"

"This?" I ask, shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat and shivering slightly. How is she not freezing? She's only got a light pink sweater on that's… oh! My eyes fixate on her chest long enough to see that she must be cold. I can see her nipp—

"Yeah, walk women home. Open doors… all that stuff. It's very old school, Edward."

"Old school?" I ask warily.

She laughs and leans into me, linking her arm with mine. My heart is beating faster already. "In a good way," she says.

"I think it's respectful, and honestly, I don't understand why people stopped doing any of those things. You shouldn't walk home by yourself at night. It's dangerous." The distant howl of a wolf from the blackened forest causes my hair to stand on end. "See?"

"It's just a wolf. They're not dangerous," she says, tucking her arm more tightly around mine.

"Have you never heard of the phrase _beware of a wolf in sheep's clothing_?" I ask.

"Wolves are misunderstood. They're known as teachers. They're fiercely loyal and intelligent," she explains.

"I should do more research on them if that's your assessment."

She hums as we continue down a gravel path towards a line of log cabins that face the Kenai Lake. I can hear the wind whistling through the massive pine trees, and I wonder if there is a storm approaching. "This is me," she says, stopping in front of one of the cabins.

It's rustic and warm with massive panoramic windows and a large wrap around deck with two large wooden chairs that face the lake. It looks like a perfect place to relax with the _Financial Post_.

She slips her arm out from mine and turns the knob on the door, opening it. "Is your door not locked?" I ask in disbelief.

"I've lived here for twenty-seven years and never locked my door," she says, the wind whipping her hair around her face.

"Isabella, that's not safe."

"You worry too much. There isn't a safer place on the planet than Cooper Landing," she says adamantly.

I rake my fingers through my hair nervously. "Please lock your door. I won't be able to sleep thinking about it… I just…" I shut my eyes, trying to will the nerves away, and then, I feel her hand on my cheek. The warmth flows through me, and I snap my eyes open.

She's smiling up at me, so unbelievably beautiful. My heart is in my throat. "You are one incredible man, Edward Cullen." I swallow loudly. There's nothing I can say to that. No one has ever called me incredible before, and I have absolutely no idea why she thinks I am. "Until tomorrow," she says, pushing the door and backing up inside.

My eyes widen as she slowly closes the heavy wooden door. I stare at it for four solid minutes. Yes, I counted, and then, I hear a faint click as she locks it. I feel the smile fill my face and turn to make my way back to my room where I will be alone… until tomorrow.

Chapter End Notes:

Ah, REO Speedwagon. Takes you back, doesn't it? Yeah, I know you're all singing it.

Is our Edward starting to come out of his shell?

Let me know your thoughts.

_I Can't Fight This Feeling_ – Lyrics by Kevin Cronin, 1984

_Every Rose Has Its Thorn_ – Lyrics by Bret Michaels, 1988

Twitter: CarLemon


	4. Chapter 4

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful story: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO_

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. Let's see what's in store for our Edward today. Come, join me…

Chapter 4

_**Edward**_

Two. Number of extra Vitamin C tablets I took last night.

Forty-seven. Number of times I looked at the bear clock beside the bed during the most restless sleep I've ever had.

Three. Number of shirts I've put on, decided were not appropriate, and hung back up.

One hundred and eighty. Number of sit-ups I've done since waking at five thirty-eight.

I don't normally do sit-ups, even though Emmett says I should. He says that "chicks like abs of steel." Those are his words, not mine. I cringe at his use of the derogatory word "chick" to describe a woman. I'm also sure that even if I had abs of steel that would not make me more attractive.

Still, I did them this morning before I finally decided on the grey Hanes t-shirt, dark blue button down shirt and navy vest. I drape my tie around my neck and debate whether to wear it. I suppose, I'm not technically working, even though I plan to help Isabella out with the sheer disaster that is brewing in those cardboard boxes, so I probably don't need a tie. But I also don't want to appear too casual. I slip the tie off, staring back at the reflection in the bathroom mirror. No, the tie is required. I'm performing a service for Isabella, and my attire should reflect the fact that I'm serious about it.

I secure the Windsor knot at my neck and put on my navy trousers. The pleat is still crisp and doesn't require additional ironing.

A quick glance to the clock tells me its six thirty-four, and therefore, time for me to make my way down to breakfast. I also would really like to check my email and read the _Financial Post_. I button my overcoat, sling my laptop bag over my shoulder and walk out into the fresh morning air.

It is pure, clean, and unlike anything I've ever breathed in Seattle. It's also warmer than yesterday. I may not require the overcoat all day. I arrive at the restaurant and scan the tables, looking for Emmett. I hear him, of course, before I see him. He's laughing loudly in a booth with Jasper and Jacob Black. My mood just took a downturn.

"Edward!" Emmett calls from the booth, waving his arms at me. _Yes, I can see you, Emmett._ I shake my head, making my way to the table. "We just got here, dude. Jacob's going to stay for breakfast."

Fantastic. I slip into the booth beside Jasper, setting my laptop bag on the floor in front of me. "You enjoying yourself so far, Eddie? Good setup Bells has here, huh?" Jacob asks, leaning back against the booth, his arm draped across the back.

I cringe and unbutton my coat. Two horrific nicknames in less than fifteen seconds. "The Lodge is lovely. _Isabella_ has done a wonderful job of making guests feel welcome," I respond as kindly as I can. I pick up the breakfast menu and peruse the selections.

There is a wide choice of items, ranging from omelettes, to eggs Benedict, to buttermilk pancakes, to an array of fresh pastries, including something called _Bella's buns_ that catches my eye. According to the menu, _Bella's buns_ are a version of her late mother's homemade recipe and include generous amounts of brown sugar, cinnamon, and pecans. I suddenly feel warmer.

A dark haired waitress appears at the table, and Jacob eagerly wraps his arm around her waist, patting her behind and leering up at her. "This, my friends, is Leah. The future Mrs. Black." She giggles and hits him in the head, deservedly so, with her writing pad.

I rise from the table and nod my head at her. "It's nice to meet you, Leah. I'm Edward Cullen. This is my brother, Emmett, and our friend, Jasper Hale." She leans back and looks at me with the familiar you-must-be-from-another-planet look that I've gotten used to. If I was rude to her, she'd probably find that endearing.

"Nice to meet you," she says slowly. I smile and sit back down beside Jasper as she starts to take orders. I really want to try _Bella's buns,_ but I just can't imagine even saying those words out loud.

After Emmett has ordered nearly everything on the menu, she turns to me. "What'll it be, Edward?"

"Um... I'll take a mushroom omelette, egg whites only, a glass of orange juice with ice, and um... some of these." I raise the menu to her and point to the words on the menu.

She squints, trying to see the menu. "Sorry, Edward. I don't have my contacts in, and I can't see hardly anything. Some of what?" she asks.

Oh dear God! I feel my face flush while silence falls over the table. "Bella's buns," I whisper.

"Oh, those are awesome!" Jacob raves. Emmett snickers beside him, lifting his eyebrows to me while Leah collects our menus and disappears into the kitchen after yet another slap on her behind from Jacob.

"So, you want to try Bella's buns, huh?" Emmett teases.

"How do you put up with him?" Jasper asks.

"Twenty-eight years of practice, Jasper. Is that all you ever think about, Emmett?" I practically hiss.

"You're the one who didn't even want to say the words, dude," Emmett points out, chuckling at me. I shake my head and straighten the cutlery on the table.

"So, last night, Leah and I were in bed and-" Oh, dear Lord! Jacob Black needs to go crawl back to the doghouse he clearly lives in. We hardly know the man. His fiancée is our server, and even if neither one of those things were true, it's utter disrespect to talk about what goes on behind closed doors in the bedroom.

I collect my laptop and stand from the table in disgust. "What's up, Eddie?" Jacob asks.

"I'm going to try to get internet access while we wait for breakfast. I'll be back in a few minutes," I announce. I throw the laptop bag over my shoulder and stalk to the lobby. The last thing I want to hear about is Jacob Black's sexual exploits with his fiancée.

I scan the lobby, finding Isabella's father behind the front desk. I'm glad I decided on the tie. See, you really can't go wrong with a classic silk Calvin Klein. You never know who you're going to meet. "Mr. Swan?" I ask, approaching the desk, my heart hammering while my palms sweat.

He looks up from the register book and smiles. Isabella resembles her father... the same dark hair, same expressive eyes. "I wanted to take a moment to introduce myself. I'm Edward Cullen." I extend my hand, and he grips it firmly, solidly. Mr. Swan is not a man to mess with.

"Ahh, the Edward from last night," he says, releasing his vice-like grip on my hand. _The Edward from last night?_ Has Isabella been talking about me? "Thanks for offering to help my little girl. She's a firecracker with this place, but the bills?" He rolls his eyes. "Jeez. I'm sure there's stuff in there from eight years ago she hasn't even opened yet." He laughs loudly.

I don't see anything funny with the current lack of organization of Isabella's paperwork, but I smile at him, anyway. "I'm happy to help out, Mr. Swan."

"Call me Charlie, Edward." I nod my head at him, not completely comfortable with addressing him by his first name so soon.

"You and Isabella have a wonderful lodge, Mr... Charlie."

"Oh, it's all Bella, Edward. Well, actually, her mother's flare that Bella seems to have inherited. It's been in Rene's family for generations. She really gave life to this place. It was hard on Bella when she passed away, but she threw herself into running it," he says proudly. My heart clenches at the thought of Isabella losing her mother. "I'm just the pretty face behind the front desk or the bar. Oh, and I run the fishing trips, too. Are you taking one while you're here?"

How do I tell Mr... er, Charlie that fishing is probably the last thing on the face of the earth I would ever want to do? "Um... my brother and our friend are scheduled to do that today."

"But not you?" he asks, leaning forward on the desk, studying me closely.

"No, not me. I prefer to stay on shore."

"Ah, a hunter, then?" he asks, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

I shake my head, cringing at the thought of hunting a defenceless animal. "Oh, definitely not. I don't think me holding a gun would be a very wise idea."

He nods his head, smirking at me. "Well, there's plenty to do. I'm sure Bella will keep you busy." I can only hope that will be the case.

"Isabella mentioned you have internet access in here?" I ask, hoping I'm not being too much of a bother.

"When it works, yeah. You're welcome to try. Plug's over here," he says, shoving a stack of papers out of the way and exposing a telephone jack in the wall.

"You don't have wireless?"

He furrows his brow at me. "I'm not even sure what that is. Bella plugs her computer into here," he explains. "Come on back and you can give it a try."

"Behind the desk?" I ask, completely taken aback that there isn't a business center or at least a work station set up for guests to use.

"Sure!" He opens the door to the left of the front desk and waits for me.

Reluctantly, I squeeze in beside him into the tiny area behind the desk. I stare at the stacks of papers on the floor and the large number of boxes, containing Lord only knows what. This is going to be a bigger job than I expected. Interesting how that thought doesn't at all upset me.

I place my laptop bag on the counter and open it, retrieving my computer and squatting down to the phone jack. There's a cord sticking out of it that I'm assuming is the "dial-up" Isabella spoke of. I plug it into my computer and set to task on figuring out their process for connecting to civilization as Charlie scans the handwritten ledger in front of him.

I can hear the sound of the dial-up trying to fire; the _ping-ping_ that I heard back in early 1990s when the internet was first starting, and I used to own an old Commodore 64 with a dot matrix printer. It's like I've gone back in time as I wait and wait for what seems like days for the internet to appear.

Once it finally opens, I try to log on to our corporate email, a task which takes almost five minutes, but does give me more time with Charlie.

"You've always lived here in Cooper Landing?" I ask.

"Born and raised," he says proudly. "And you?"

"Seattle."

"Hmmm. City boy, huh?" he asks, nudging me in the arm.

"Well, I don't know—" My response is silenced by Isabella's welcoming voice.

"There you are. Your breakfast is getting cold," she says sweetly, walking towards the front desk, balancing a large plate over a glass of orange juice in one hand, cutlery in the other.

"Morning, Bella," Charlie says, beaming at her.

"Morning, Dad."

"Aw, you didn't have to bring me breakfast, honey," Charlie says.

"I didn't. This is Edward's."

I adjust my glasses, smiling at her gesture. "You didn't have to bring it in here. I was just trying to check email."

"Oh, you'll be forever doing that and, you wouldn't want Bella's buns to get cold now, would you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow to me as she sets the plate down beside my computer.

"Umm... I..."

Charlie hits me on the back and moves out of the front desk area. "I'll leave you to it. I've got a fishing charter to start." He hugs Isabella before sauntering out the front door, and I take the opportunity to stare at her, again. This morning, she has on a blue hoodie and jeans that appear to be too tight. I wonder idly if they are even comfortable. She also has on a pair of hiking boots that look worn and weathered.

She turns back to me once Charlie has left and leans over the desk. "So, I thought maybe we could go for a hike today," she says casually. Once again, I'm at a loss for words and just stare back at her, probably looking like a fool. "If you don't want to, that's okay." She twirls the string from her hoodie through her fingers.

"No… I mean, yes… I mean, I thought I would get started with the paperwork," I stammer.

She rolls her eyes and picks up the fork, stabbing part of the omelette and raising it to my lips. I think I may pass out. No one has ever tried to feed me before. I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with the idea. Isn't this a little personal? Forward? Bold, even? "There's lots of time for that, and it's a beautiful day, Edward." She lifts her eyebrows, still holding the fork. "Tyler makes _the _best omelettes ever," she says, as if she's trying to convince me.

I tentatively open my mouth, and she gently inserts the fork. The omelette is heavenly. Perfectly cooked and practically melting in my mouth. I think I actually moan. I feel myself blush as I lean away from the counter and swallow. "My compliments to the chef." I take a sip of the orange juice, staring at her over the rim.

"Wait until you try my buns," she says, causing me to lose all sense of decorum. The orange juice barely makes it down my throat before I'm coughing uncontrollably.

Isabella is behind the desk, hitting me on the back quickly. "You okay?" she asks, clearly concerned.

I nod and lean over the desk, my glasses drifting down my nose. Mortification on day two. At least I'm consistent. "Wrong pipe," I manage to choke out.

Her hits on my back change quickly to a soothing rub that she continues in circles… once… twice. Oh no! The erection is back in full force. I cannot possibly let her see this. I sit down on the stool in the hopes that will reduce it.

She leans against the counter, watching me intently. "So?" she asks.

"So?"

"The hike? What do you think?"

I consider her offer in relation to my agenda for the day. This wasn't part of the schedule. A hike, most likely a non challenging one, is scheduled with everyone at Friday at one o'clock.

"I was planning on using today to acclimatize," I answer.

She cocks her head to the side, knitting her brow. "Acclimatize?"

"Yes." I open the buckles on my laptop bag, flipping up the flap and sliding the agenda out of my bag. The crease in her brow gets deeper as I hand the agenda to her. "After breakfast, I was going to deal with any pressing matters from work. Then, after lunch at twelve-thirty, I hope to take a walk around the grounds and familiarize myself with the surroundings. I then planned on a short nap, followed by dinner at six."

"You have the nap scheduled in here," she says in astonishment. I nod and stare at the delectable pastry on the plate while I hear her flip through the remainder of the agenda. "You've thought of everything, Edward." She glances up at me, my heart thundering.

"Not your offer of a hike," I reply.

Her smile returns, and if I'm not mistaken, perhaps the faintest hint of a blush. "We could always hike another time. I don't want to push," she says quietly.

I glance outside at the cloudless sky and then back to the agenda she's now cradling against her chest. She looks anxious, hopeful even, and somehow, today's pre-set schedules and planned naps are abandoned. "I think it's a perfect day for a hike."

_BTN_

"You own a lot of vests," she calls to me as I change out of my clothes in the bathroom. Oh dear Lord! She's examining my wardrobe.

"I suppose I do," I reply, slipping my favourite blue J Crew zip up on over the grey t-shirt. I would never normally wear such casual attire when in the company of a woman… correction, _if_ I ever was in the company of a woman, but Isabella was correct in saying the tie and slacks were probably not appropriate hiking gear.

I wage an internal battle on the contact lenses. While definitely more practical for physical activity, the fact that I lose what little sense of balance I have when wearing them makes my decision easier. It's going to be difficult enough to keep up with her. I pray the trail that she is taking me on is in accordance with my skill level.

I secure the belt around the jeans I reluctantly bought under Alice and Rosalie's guidance. Rosalie said "my ass looked fantastic in them." Those were her words. I turn from the mirror and crane my neck back to the reflection. I have no idea what she was referring to.

I take a calming breath before opening the bathroom door and find her sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her elbows, staring up at the ceiling. "Ready to go?" I ask. She sits up, her eyes widening as she takes my appearance in. I'm sure I look ridicul-

"You should wear jeans more often, Edward." She bounces up off the bed, retrieving her orange backpack from the front door. I stare back at her, dumbfounded by her words. She _does _think my clothing is too formal. I glance at the row of vests and dress shirts in the closet, wishing now I had chosen to pack differently. I pause and shake my head. There is no _different packing_. This is what I own… this is me.

_BTN_

Sixteen. How many times I've stumbled, trying to keep up with Isabella on what I would only loosely describe as a "trail."

Three. How many times she has seen me stumble.

Four. White tailed deer she has pointed out.

One. Line of sight, focused clearly and pointedly on Isabella as she takes us further and further into the forest.

We are currently bushwhacking our way through the depths of wild, untouched Alaska. I'm confident no human being has ever set foot where we are currently walking. We are surrounded, engulfed by massive, soaring fir trees. It's quiet… eerily quiet, with only the occasional sound of a bird of prey in the distance, and of course, the inevitable snap of twigs beneath my feet as I scramble to keep up with her. Isabella Swan is going to be the death of me.

"Almost there," she calls over her shoulder as she pushes a mass of branches out of her way, disappearing into the overgrowth in front of me. Said branches hit me in the face, and I am forced to adjust my glasses, again. "Ah ha! Thought so."

_Thought so? _Has she no idea where we've travelled over the last hour? When I questioned the fact that she wasn't bringing a map, she said, and I quote, "I totally know where we're going." Clearly, that was a lie. I'm glad I have my emergency pack stowed away secretly in my own backpack, complete with a compass and map.

"I knew it was here. Come here, Edward!"

Even having mastered the treadmill, that climb was not easy. My heart is pounding; although, I'm not entirely sure it's only from the hike. Spurred on by her voice, I battle my way through the interlocked branches, and come to a stop beside her.

Yet again, I am speechless. Set into the mountainside, overlooking the expanse of what I'm assuming is Kenai Lake, a plume of steam rises lazily from an oval body of water. The air is more humid here, the moss on the jagged rocks and overgrown Douglas firs more pronounced. I stare at the water in amazement while it bubbles and hisses as if it's alive. A faint, earthy smell of sulphur pricks my nose, and I scrunch it immediately in response.

I look up the sheer rock wall that rises above this natural wonder. It's absolutely awe inspiring. The pool of water is surrounded by massive rocks, and in the distance, I can hear the sounds of a stream. It's as if I've stepped into an alternate universe. This type of place just doesn't exist within the cityscapes of Seattle. It is nature in its most surreal and captivating form.

"This isn't on any map I've seen during my research," I reflect.

"There are a lot of things here that aren't on any map, Edward," she says pointedly. "Things you can't possibly research." Somehow, I think there is more behind her words. "It's a hot spring. One hundred and five amazing degrees."

She drops the backpack next to the rocks and backs up towards the bubbling water. Cocking her head to the side, she bites down on her bottom lip, a devilish look in her eyes before she asks, "Want to take a dip?"

Chapter end notes:

Oh dear… Edward… a hot spring… what could possibly happen?

Let me know your thoughts.

Twitter: CarLemon


	5. Chapter 5

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx who also made the banner for this story. Check out her wonderful story, now completed: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO_

_Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. Let's learn a bit more about Bella. Come… join me._

Chapter 5

_Bella_

_What are you doing, Bella?_ _Have you not learned anything from the last three loser guys you've gone through?_

Shut up! This one is different.

_That's what you said about Seth, Riley, and oh, let's not forget James._

I try to ignore Little-Miss-I-Told-You-So, but I have to admit, my track record with guys is brutal. I really know how to pick them. Let's take a look, shall we?

There's James, who doesn't actually have a home that I know of. He makes his living by taking tourists on extended hunting trips in the most remote areas of Alaska that he can find. He has a reputation of being a good tracker, especially for elk. Even Dad has said something about how good he is.

He doesn't, however, have a very good reputation with women; one in every little town in Alaska, so the rumour goes. I used to have the not so distinguished honour of being the said woman here in Cooper Landing.

Every few weeks, he would wander into town, all dirty, tired, and looking to get laid, and where does he end up? At the bar, his piercing gaze undressing me until work is finished, and I end up bent over my desk in my tiny office for all of three minutes.

Don't get me wrong, I went willingly, hoping, praying that each time it would be different. That _he_ would be different. But he never was. He could care less about foreplay. It was always about _him_, and as a result, I went largely unsatisfied. The last time he sauntered through town and sat at the bar a year ago, I pretended to be sick. He didn't seem to care. I think he ended up with one of the tourists.

Then there's Seth, a law student from Anchorage that I met when his class came to the lodge for a fishing trip last year. Seth is young and pathetically eager. He reminds me of a puppy dog; a puppy dog in heat. I caught Seth in bed with some woman from the law office he's articling in when I went to surprise him one weekend. I was the one surprised. Surprised and disgusted.

I sigh as I think about Riley, also from Anchorage. He should be on the cover of a magazine, not performing in lame cabaret acts on the local cruise ships. The problem is, Riley knows how good looking he is. I actually thought, at one point, I was in love with him. Unfortunately, the only person Riley could ever be in love with is himself.

We dated for three months. Well, as much as you can date someone who lives over eighty miles from you. We saw each other on the weekends where he spent most of the time looking at himself in any mirror he could find, and telling me I needed to start moisturizing because laugh lines were starting to form.

I gave up after Riley. As I think about it now, I'm actually kind of appalled, not only at me for staying with these losers as long as I did, but at them… actually, at men in general. Seth, Riley, and James couldn't be more different from each other, and yet, when you pull back the layers, they're all the same; selfish, egotistical assholes.

Unless, of course, it's all me. That's a distinct possibility. I know I'm not exactly super model material. I'm as generic as they come, my life revolves around the lodge, and maybe guys are just looking for something exciting that I don't have.

After my failed attempts at trying to have a relationship, I've kind of resigned myself to the fact that I'm probably going to be alone. Living in a town with less than four hundred people does have its advantages, but dating is not one of them. It's your typical small town, to the extreme. Everyone knows everyone, and the thought of dating any of the guys here is actually kind of nauseating.

Which brings me to how I'm currently standing beside one worried and anxious Edward Cullen while he stares at the hot spring as if I've just led him to Mars. Edward seems to be everything the last three losers weren't. _Seems to be_ being the keywords there. They all seem to be better when you first meet them, don't they?

Still, there is something about Edward. In the weeks leading up to his trip, I've had a lot of conversations with him on the phone, conversations that I began to look forward to having. He listened intently as I went over the things I would do if I was coming here. His attention to detail is astounding. He asked so many questions, at one point, I thought he must be reading them from a script.

He patiently answered all of my questions about Seattle, and I had a lot. I've never gone anywhere. My entire existence is based upon a town where the most excitement we ever have is when the tourists are here for our annual fish fry. I can't even fathom the possibilities of a city like Seattle. Sure, I've gone to Anchorage tons of times, but something tells me it's a whole lot different than Seattle.

It's not only that, I can't remember the last time a guy opened a door for me or rose from his seat when I came to the table. It's sweet, and I don't think it's fake. I think that's just Edward.

I also think that my heart stopped entirely when he came out of the bathroom earlier, wearing jeans and a hoodie. My mouth went dry, and that hasn't happened in a very long time. Actually, I'm not sure if that's _ever_ happened. Who knew that ass was hiding under those chinos? There's some saying about books and covers, I think.

I can tell that Edward isn't too sure of himself. I have no idea why. He's already been better to me than any of the dicks I've gone out with. I wonder if he has a girlfriend. I'm sure he must. There's no way someone like this is single. Only one way to find out.

"Want to take a dip?" I ask, dropping the backpack to the ground. He offered to take my backpack at the start of the hike, even though he's clearly struggling with his own. Yet another thing that makes him different from anyone I've ever met; he genuinely wants to help.

"I… I didn't… I don't have the appropriate clothing, and are we even allowed to do that?" he asks, nervously running his fingers through his hair.

"I don't see a sign saying we can't take a dip, and even if there was, who cares?"

"I don't think so, Isabella. Perhaps we shouldn't—"

"This is exactly what we should do," I interrupt him.

"I don't…"

"Do you swim? It's not deep, and I'll be right with you," I urge gently. I have a feeling this is new territory for him, judging by the look of pure fear on his face.

His eyes grow wider behind his glasses. "This isn't something I'm comfortable with," he says quietly, staring at the rocks that surround the hot spring.

"Because of me? Do I make you uncomfortable?" Maybe I'm right. Maybe it _is_ me. I've got some radar that only attracts losers and idiots.

"No! Yes… I don't… I don't do these types of things. I don't get into naturally occurring hot springs with beautiful women."

I'm floored by his words, by the fact that he thinks I'm beautiful. "I'm not a beautiful woman. I'm just Bella."

"That's not… you're not _just_ anything. You're…" He waves his hands up and down in front of me, lost for words and looking horrified.

My heart breaks for him and what must have led to him having such little self-esteem. This man is incredible. Notice I said _man_ and not guy. Edward is most definitely not a _guy_. He's all man. A man I need to learn more about.

"How about this? I take off something and then you take off something. When you feel like it's too much, we'll stop," I say boldly.

"That would mean we're stopping now," he replies, clenching his eyes shut.

I move in front of him, unzipping my hoodie, and dropping it to the rock beside us. His eyes fly open, and he gives me a quirky smile. "Okay. So, I can handle the zip up," he says, his long fingers shaking as he slowly lowers the zipper, revealing a loose grey t-shirt underneath.

He carefully removes the hoodie, and then painstakingly folds it up before laying it on the rock beside my crumpled one. I reach out and steady myself on his shoulder… his firm shoulder, and toe out of my hiking boots, kicking them to the side.

I lift my eyebrows to him, and he smiles again. "I'm okay with shoes," he states, sitting down on one of the bigger rocks and undoing the laces in his hiking boots. Judging from the look of them, I think this may be Edward's first adventure into hiking. He tucks the laces into the boots and then lines them up neatly beside the rock.

I reach down, taking off one sock and then the other, tossing them over my shoulder. His eyes linger on my toes, and I wiggle them for effect. I did paint them each a different colour this morning, that's probably why he's staring at them.

He removes his socks and then rolls them up into a perfect tight little ball, shoving them deep inside the hiking boots. Before he has a chance to protest, I whip my t-shirt over my head, letting it fall to the ground at his feet.

He swallows so loudly I can hear it and then clears his throat nervously. "Is that a Hanes tank top?" he asks.

I giggle at the innocence of his question. Most guys would be fixated on the obvious fact that I have no bra on underneath the tank top, but not Edward. "I think so," I reply.

He takes a deep breath and stands up. "So is this," he says, running his hand across his chest… right where I want my hand to be. "Well, it's not a tank top, but it is a Hanes. They make the most comfortable shirts, don't you think?" he rambles, his eyes finding mine once they flicker to every other possible location.

I nod and undo the button on my jeans. He shuts his eyes and fumbles with his belt. Not going to lie, it takes everything in me not to help him.

I lower the zipper on my jeans and slowly step out of them as he stares up at the sky, looking like he's counting. "I'll get in and let you take yours off, if you want," I offer. I don't want him to freak out on me, and I think I may be pushing it if he knows I'm watching him take his pants off.

I sit on one of the rocks, dangling my legs into the water. It warms me instantly as I lower myself down into the pool, the water reaching only to my chest. I move to the opposite side, giving him the space I think he needs.

I lean over the side, crossing my arms on the rocks, and looking down onto the lake. I hope Edward likes it up here. I know we are in the middle of nowhere, hell _I_ had a hard time finding it this time. For a lot of people who visit from big cities, this is kind of like torture. No coffee shops, no cell phone reception, nothing open twenty-four hours except nature.

I hear the water slosh against the rocks and turn to see him tentatively sinking down into the water. He sits on one of the rocks submerged in the pool with his eyes clenched shut, his breathing coming really fast… too fast. _Oh no!_ He's going to have a panic attack or something.

I move to him quickly, letting my hands travel down his arms to find his. "Breathe, Edward. It's okay. It's just a hot spring," I say, lacing my fingers with his and squeezing in reassurance like I did last night during karaoke. It seemed to help him then, and I hope it does the same now.

"It's just _you_… in a hot spring," he whispers.

I shake my head at how crazy that sounds. It _is_ just me… plain old me. I'm nothing to be nervous about. "Open your eyes," I urge.

He does, and for the first time, I really look at them. Panicked, yes, but also deeply intensely green, almost burning behind his glasses that are starting to fog from the steam rising around us.

"You're fogging up," I say, reaching for his glasses, and gently pulling them from his face… his face, which is defined, chiselled even, and fraught with emotion I want to try to understand.

"Isabella, I can't… I can't really see very well without them," he admits nervously as I set them on the rock beside him.

"You don't need to see. Just feel. Sit back and just feel." I settle beside him and rest my head back against the rock, shutting my eyes and inhaling deeply.

I feel him lean back beside me, his arm grazing mine while he lets out a heavy sigh. "I never just sit," he says quietly.

I turn my head to him and smirk. "You're on vacation. It's _all _about just sitting."

"Okay," he mumbles, not sounding at all sure of himself. He shuts his eyes, and I keep mine open, just watching him. "I guess I do sit. When I read the _Financial Post_." I smile at him, even though he can't see me.

I'm not sure how long we sit in silence, just breathing in the humid air, letting the warm water soothe us. It's heavenly, and I feel myself smile wider.

"Can I ask you something?" Edward's voice is quiet, like he's unsure of himself.

"Of course," I answer, looking up at him. _Oh, hello._ His hair is damp from the humidity and looking all messy… sexy messy, his face flushed from the heat, his lips pouty and full. I need to bring him up here, again. What am I thinking, _again?_ I've seen his agenda, it's completely full.

"What kind of flowers are in my room?"

"Forget-me-nots. It's Alaska's state flower," I explain. "You didn't like them, did you? I mean, that's okay, I just saw they weren't by the bed where I had put them."

"No! I liked them, I just… I sneezed a few times, and I thought I may be having a reaction to them," he says quickly. "I can still see them from the bed."

"Don't worry about it, Edward. I just thought they were pretty and brightened the room." _He's seriously not worried about offending me by moving the flowers, is he?_ "There are lots of other flowers I can try if those ones bother you."

"No, I think Forget-met-nots are appropriate," he says, his eyes burning into mine.

This time, it's me who is swallowing loudly and fidgeting with my shirt. I stand up, feeling suddenly way too hot, and he does, as well, a little too quickly, his body swaying into mine.

His arm wraps around my waist to keep us from falling, and my palms land on his chest. It's firm, but not muscular, if that makes any sense. Riley was muscular. _Stop thinking about other guys!_ Right! How long has it been since I've had sex, again? _Clearly too long!_

"I'm dizzy," he says, his breath fanning my face while his hand stays firmly on my lower back.

_You and me both._

I reach around him, picking up his glasses from the rock, placing them back behind his ears. "Better?" His quirky smile returns, and he simply nods at me. "We should probably get out of here. Too long in a hot spring and, well, you get dizzy," I say, reluctantly moving away from him.

He grips my hand, squeezing it tightly. "I don't think the hot spring is the reason I'm dizzy."

_BTN_

There is no better feeling in the world than drying off in a meadow under a clear blue Alaskan sky… at least that's what I thought until Edward lay down next to me. _This is way better. _

He was hesitant at first, given the fact that we hiked down here, still in our Hanes t-shirts, him, still dripping wet in his navy blue boxers and me in my underwear, but he did it. And even if he grumbled about not having adequate blankets and was worried he was going to burn in the sun, he still stretched out beside me. Mind you, his body is rigid and barely moving as he lays so quietly beside me. I'm not even sure he's actually breathing.

The more time I spend with Edward, the more I can sense that he doesn't do spontaneous. I'm all about the spontaneity, the ridiculous, anything spur of the moment, actually. Hence the reason I think I've hooked up with jerks. Sure, it seems all fun and a little reckless having sex in the back office at the bar where anyone could walk in, but if I took more than three minutes to think about it, I'd probably think twice… probably.

"Isabella?" he asks. Judging from where the sun is in the sky, most of the afternoon has slipped away.

"Hmmm."

"Do you do this with all of your guests?" he asks.

"No. I've never done this."

He sits up abruptly. "Never?"

I roll over on my side and stare up at him. "No. Never."

"Why did you, with me of all people, then?" he asks nervously, picking at the grass.

"Well, first, I promised you a hike." His face falls at my words. "And even if I didn't, I like you, Edward. I like spending time with you. You feel… warm."

"No one has ever accused me of being warm. Stuffy, closed off, pretentious even, but never warm," he says, shaking his head.

I open my backpack and take out my hoodie, pulling it on over my top while he watches intently. "You need to learn to take a compliment. Warm is good. It's very good." I wiggle my jeans on and push up from the grass. "And whoever told you you're stuffy is an asshole."

He laughs loudly. I think it's the first time I've heard his laugh. It echoes into the forest and it sounds fantastic. Edward needs to laugh more, and I intend to make sure he does.

_BTN_

He spends the rest of the afternoon literally buried in my office. I venture in only to bring him a late lunch. He looks beyond stressed out when I slide the pecan crusted salmon salad across the desk. He has a chewed up pencil stuck firmly between his teeth, his hair all insane and sticking in a million different directions, his brow furrowed in concentration. I just smile and leave him to it.

I finally drag him from behind the desk hours later as he mutters about categorizing expenses under his breath. The muttering only stops when we reach my door. He looks at it anxiously while he shifts nervously. "Would you like to come in?" I ask. He looks as if he may pass out at my question. "I did promise you my special nightcap."

"I... I don't... Is that okay? I mean, with your father? I wouldn't want to disturb his nightly routine."

I laugh and open the door, leaning my back against it. "Charlie has his own place. So, we're alone." He peaks his head into my disaster of a house, his eyes narrowing. It's not dirty... just cluttery. Llived in, as Dad describes it. I've never been worried about putting things away. I'd probably forget where I put them and never find them again, and who knows when you'll need last September's edition of Alaska Magazine.

He walks through, standing nervously in the foyer, his expression twisting and changing as he takes in my living room. I kick my hiking boots into the corner, dropping my hoodie on the table at the door. "Make yourself at home. I'll just get us that drink."

I leave him raking his hands through his hair while I move to the kitchen and start the search in the cupboards for the Bailey's. I hope I have some left. I find the bottle of Creme de Cacao at the back of one of the cupboards beside the ketchup, and the Bailey's with the pots and pans... that makes sense. Leah and I did try to make a warm version of the nightly Irish Charlie. I get a momentary flash of the element catching on fire-most likely because I haven't cleaned it, ever- and Leah throwing glass after glass of water on it to douse the flames. It was a sad waste of perfectly good alcohol. I glance at the stove top. I should probably clean it at some point.

I manage to find two glasses which don't match, but are clean, which is a miracle in and of itself, and quickly mix up two Irish Charlie's. I make my way back to the living room and find him gathering up the bridal magazines from the last time Leah was over looking at dresses.

This wedding can't be over soon enough. I can't believe how much time we've already spent on planning it. You would think we were planning the royal wedding for God's sake. Mind you, most of the town is coming, so I guess for Cooper Landing this _is _the royal wedding. "What are you doing?" I ask, stopping at the doorway.

"How do you find anything?" he asks seriously, cradling the magazines against his chest.

"I find things."

He sets the magazines down on the corner of the coffee table in a perfect stack. "They are grouped by issue date. Although, I suppose I could have grouped them by title or alphabetically. Would that be better?" he asks, pushing his glasses back into place and staring at me.

I move to him and hand him one of the drinks, unable to hide my smirk. "Drink and relax. You're on vacation, and I certainly didn't bring you here so you could organize my bridal magazines."

"I can't relax with..." He stops his train of thought and takes the glass from me. "I apologize. I didn't mean to imply that your home is anything but welcoming. It's lovely. It's very you."

"And who do you think I am?" I ask, moving closer and tilting my head up to him.

"I don't know. But I want to find out."

Chapter End Notes

Well now, how do you like our Bella? A bit scattered, but maybe, just maybe there is someone who can help her with that?

Irish Charlie: equal parts Bailey's Irish Creme and White Creme de Cacao. You won't be disappointed. Trust me.

Twitter: CarLemon


	6. Chapter 6

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful story: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO_

Thanks to all those reading and reviewing. Let's check in with Edward and his night at Isabella's house.

Chapter 6

_**Edward**_

Twelve. The number of bridal magazines that are now properly organized on her coffee table.

Two. The number of glasses Isabella is holding as she stares up at me.

One foot in my mouth.

Oh dear Lord. She's going to think I'm some crazy, overbearing fool who can't control what he says. I don't even know where that came from. I mean, of course I want to find out more about her; she's wonderful, amazing, and so open and honest. How could anyone _not _want to know more?

But I've overstepped my bounds with blurting out that I want to get to know her. "I should probably leave," I say, stepping back from her.

"No! Why are you leaving? You haven't even had the drink," she argues, blinking up at me and holding out a glass that looks like it contains light chocolate milk. Interesting. Sometimes I have warm milk before I retire for the evening. It helps me sleep. I don't want to offend her by declining the drink, and so, I take it from her.

"Thank you."

"Cheers!" she says, clinking her glass with mine and taking a long sip. I sniff at the liquid in the glass... it doesn't smell like milk. I take a tentative sip, the creamy flavours shocking me as I swallow it down.

"What is this?"

"An Irish Charlie," she answers, brushing past me and moving the newspaper on the couch before she sinks down into it.

"And that would be..."

"Bailey's and Creme de Cacao." She drops the newspaper to the floor behind the couch and takes another sip. Her drink is almost gone already! This is a drink to be savoured, not pounded back like Emmett does with shots of tequila. She pats the empty space on the couch beside her. "Pop a squat, Edward."

_Pop a squat?_ Oh! She wants me to sit down... beside her. I take another sip of the drink- it really is quite enjoyable- and move to the couch. I sit down next to her, turning the glass between my hands. "So, what's the damage?" she asks, curling her legs under her and leaning towards me.

"The damage?"

"Yeah. How bad is all that unopened stuff in my office?" she asks casually.

"Isabella, I've only just started to open the envelopes and categorize your expenses. It's going to take me a few days to figure out how dire the situation is."

She waves me off. "It can't be that bad. I mean, I'm sure I would have heard by now."

I furrow my brow at her. "You haven't heard from any of your suppliers with regards to late payments?" Perhaps she _is _maintaining at least the basics. She must be.

"No. I just transfer money to them every month. I've been doing that forever. I must be caught up or they would tell me, right?" she asks, swirling the liquid in her glass.

I'm certain I've entered an alternate universe. "Are you telling me that you just blindly transfer funds to suppliers for the restaurant and the bar without even knowing how much you actually owe them?" She nods behind her glass as she takes another sip, draining the remnants. "You can't be serious. That's just... I can't even... Why?"

She sets her now empty glass on the coffee table, shrugs her shoulders, and stretches her legs out... over my lap. Oh, please, God, not another erec... too late, its back in full force, much like it was the entire morning. "You have to learn to trust people, Edward. My mom did business with all these guys before, and her mother before that. We know them. They're like family," she says as if this is an explanation.

She wiggles her sock clad feet at me, and I glance down to them momentarily before looking back at her. "That doesn't mean you should just give them money without determining what you actually owe them," I explain. This is worse than I thought. I'm going to have to start from square one to try to figure out the state of affairs that the Lodge is in.

"Sometimes, Dad just takes them fishing... oh, and if he has a really good day catching salmon, he'll give them a bunch. They usually don't ask for as much money when he does that."

"Charlie is using salmon as payment?" I ask, utterly dumbfounded.

She leans her head back against the cushions on the couch and shuts her eyes. "I guess. Rubbing."

"Rubbing?"

"Yeah. Rub my feet. They're killing me from the hike." The hike _was_ rather grueling. My own feet are sore... probably due to the fact that I mistakenly wore hiking boots that were brand new. I'm sure I have blisters. So much for the comfort guarantee. I'll have to look into the complaint policy when I get back to Seattle.

As she wiggles her feet, I glance down at her socks, and I can't help but smile. They're blue and have little bears on them... but rubbing feet? I don't rub feet. It's not something I'm comfort- "Please?" she asks, lifting her head from the pillow and issuing me a look which, quite frankly, will make me do anything she wants.

"Very well. One foot rub, coming up."

She smiles, settling back on the cushion as I set my glass down on the coffee table and commence the foot rub. Being part of the sheer litany of sports teams that both Emmett and Jasper have been on over the years, I've witnessed massages, particularly foot massages, when Emmett was on the soccer team at Seattle University.

I lift her tiny left foot and start with a deep pass from her toes down to her heel, applying what I hope is adequate pressure to soothe. I repeat the process, back up her instep to her toes, this time rubbing in small circles as I go. She moans, low and breathy, causing me to shift on the couch, my erection pressing firmly against my jeans. _Oh no!_ Please don't let her feel that. I mean, her foot is right there… so dangerously close.

I take a deep breath and lift her feet up, sliding one of the throw cushions from behind me onto my lap. I set her feet back down on the cushion. Yes, that's better; a barrier between my inability to control myself and her.

I try to concentrate on the foot massage and not on the fact that she is continuing to moan and writhe on the couch. "Hmmm, Edward. That feels amazing. Where did you learn to do that?" she mumbles.

I clear my throat, focusing on the pattern. Perhaps, if I don't look at her, I'll manage through without further embarrassment. "Emmett was on the soccer team in university. He used to get massages frequently. I paid attention."

She leans up, brushing her hair away from her face. "Were you on the soccer team?" she asks.

I laugh… very loudly. I've laughed more with Isabella than I have in a very long time and it feels good. "No. You saw me today. I'm not exactly coordinated enough to play competitive soccer. I kept all the stats for the team," I explain. "Sports are not exactly my strong suit."

She cocks her head to the side at me. "What is your strong suit?"

"What I did today."

"You did a lot of things today. You hiked a pretty intense trail. You took a dip in a hot spring. You navigated through a meadow. Those are all sporty things."

I snicker at her. "I meant in your office, and I didn't do any of those things, you did."

"Were you or were you not with me doing all of those things today?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Well, yes but-"

"But nothing. You did all of that, pretty damn well I may add," she says forcefully, sinking back down to the cushion. "Rubbing."

"Right… sorry." I pick up her right foot this time, and commence the pattern, trying to ignore the sprinkling of hums coming from her. Distraction… I need a distraction. Studying her foot clearly isn't helping, so I glance around the room, taking in its disarray.

A tiny television sits precariously on a wooden table that looks as if it's about to break. Next to it, a stack of hard cover books is carelessly piled on the floor. A large white bookcase that runs floor to ceiling is crammed with books that do not appear to be organized in any fashion.

There are a number of jackets and shirts slung over the backs of chairs, which also do not match, in the adjoining dining room. There are a several unopened envelopes on the dining room table. which makes me think that she hasn't eaten there in a long while. I'll have to go through that mail, as well. I cringe at the possibilities of what could be waiting inside those envelopes.

Still, even as unorganized as her home appears to be, it feels welcoming. The walls are a calming butterscotch colour and are lined with pictures; mind you, none of the frames match, and each one is askew, but they breathe life into the space. Actually, as she lets out a contented sigh, I think that it is Isabella herself who has breathed life into her home.

Squinting my eyes, I try to focus on the pictures above the rickety excuse for a television stand. There are a series of small sketches ensconced in vibrantly coloured frames that catch my eye. I push my glasses back up my nose, trying to study them more closely.

"My house is a mess, I know," she says, a tone of amusement in her voice. I whip my head back to her and find her leaning up on her elbows, smirking at me.

"No. I… I wouldn't describe it as a mess, per se," I stammer. _Oh God._ She's caught me looking around her house. I should have stayed focus on her foot massage.

"Edward, even _I_ know it's a mess. I should probably straighten it up, but who has the time?" she asks.

"Running the lodge is a daunting task. You must be exhausted by the end of the day. You don't have anyone to help you when you come home…?" I stop myself before I finish that thought. What on earth is wrong with me? I can't just come out and ask her if she's seeing someone. I mean, certainly, I haven't seen a suitor, and she hasn't mentioned someone special in her life, but there must be.

"What exactly are you asking me?" She quirks an eyebrow to me, but doesn't appear to be upset.

"I'm sorry. I'm not… I can't believe I just… I should go," I ramble, launching up from the couch, utterly mortified by my behaviour.

She sits up, grabs my sleeve, and pulls me back to the couch. "It's alright. I don't mind you asking, as long as I can ask you the same question."

I feel my face flush, and the hair raking begins in earnest. "I don't… I'm not seeing anyone, Isabella… not anymore."

"Not anymore?" she asks.

"I was… I mean, she was to accompany me on this trip; however, she grew tired of me and my lack of…" She cocks her head to the side at me. "Lets just leave it at she grew tired of me, shall we?" She looks relieved by my answer. I glance to my almost empty glass… yes, it must be the alcohol talking. There is no way she's relieved that I am currently not in a relationship.

"I'm not seeing anyone, either," she admits. "So, no. When I come home, there isn't anyone waiting to help me. It's just me." That admission simultaneously elates and worries me. She shouldn't be alone out here in the middle of nowhere with wild life and wayward tourists to deal with, especially since she keeps her door unlocked. On the other hand, it does mean that she isn't currently in a relationship, so perhaps… I shake my head. There is no _perhaps_. I'm only here for ten days, and today was, as she suggested, her way of paying me back for helping with the lodge. Maybe it's the alcohol talking.

"How much liquor is in one of these Irish Charlie's?" I ask, eyeing the glass.

"I don't know… some."

"How can you not know? Didn't you measure?"

She lets out another deep laugh, throwing her head back. "Measure? Where's the fun in that? No. I didn't measure. I don't measure anything," she admits.

Why am I not surprised? Right… no more Irish Charlie's for me. "Well, I should probably let you get settled for the evening." I rise up from the couch and adjust my zip up, pulling it down over my jeans in the hopes that she can't see the current state I'm in. Honestly, I've had more erections in the last eight hours than-

"Do you have to go?" She interrupts my train of thought as she gets up from the couch.

"It's been quite an eventful day for me, and I'd like to check in with Emmett. I need a good night's sleep so I'm at my best for tomorrow's work in your office." She looks disappointed as she nods up at me. "Thank you for today. I can honestly say I had a number of firsts."

She giggles and takes a step towards me. "Like what?"

"Well… umm… all of it, actually. I've never hiked a trail like that, or even seen a hot spring, and I certainly have never lain in the sun to dry off."

"I've never done any of those things, either," she says.

I furrow my brow at her. "Yes, you have."

"Not with you," she amends as my heart sprints to a gallop.

"Oh… I… I suppose that's true." I take step back from her and turn to make my way to the front door. The collection of sketches above the television catches my eye again, and I move to study them more closely.

There are four, in square frames, approximately six inches in area, I would say… all different sketches of the Seattle Space Needle. They are completely out of perspective and with entirely the incorrect landmarks in the background, but they are the space needle, nonetheless. I feel my mouth drop open as I stare at them.

"Do you like them?" she asks as I feel her move behind me. She puts her hand on my shoulder and leans into my side. She feels warm… warm and inviting.

I try to calm my nerves and blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. "Where did you get these? Why…?"

"After all those talks we had, you know, before you came here about Seattle… I went online to see a picture of the Space Needle you told me about, but our dial up is so slow, it was taking forever. I finally got one picture, and it looks so different than anything we have here, you know? Our printer is broken, so I just thought, I'd draw it." I'm speechless. The fact that anything I told her would be of interest at all is staggering to me. "It's stupid, right?"

"No. It's not stupid. They're wonderful interpretations, considering you haven't seen it."

"Maybe I could see it. Maybe one day," she says, smiling at the pictures wistfully.

"Have you traveled before?" I ask, still looking at the sketches.

"No, never. Well, to Anchorage, if you call that traveling," she says, rolling her eyes. She stretches her arms over her head and yawns. She must be exhausted, and I'm sure she has a full day ahead of her tomorrow, having spent the morning with me.

"Right. I'll let you get settled." I move to the front door and slip on my hiking boots, tying them securely. Her boots are knocked over and blocking the door, so I move them underneath the small table at the front door, tucking the laces in. "Thank you again, Isabella, for today. You went well above and beyond the required guest interaction."

She smiles at me and leans against the wall. "Thank _you_, Edward. It was the best day I've had in a very long time."

I stare back at her, the air intensified between us, and for a moment I think maybe she's silently asking me to…_it's the liquor, Edward_. "Right." I fumble with the knob on the door and finally manage to turn it, opening the door to the cool evening. She's leaning against the front door, her eyes intently focused on me, when I turn back to her. "You will remember to lock your door, right?" Her smile widens while she nods at me. "Until tomorrow," I say, my voice a mere whisper.

She wraps her arms around herself, surely from the cold air. "Until tomorrow." She shuts the door slowly as my heart stays firmly in overdrive. I wait for a few moments, and then I hear the distinct turn of the lock.

Smiling to myself, I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans and make my way back to my room.

_BTN_

"Dude! We were about to call out a search party," Emmett's clearly drunk voice greets me from a small fire-pit outside of our rooms. Is that even legal? Doesn't he require a permit?

I push that thought away as I survey the drunken state of my friends. Alice is squatting by the fire, holding a long stick over it with a marshmallow that is engulfed in flames. She doesn't seem to notice.

Rosalie is sitting in a lawn chair, her legs stretched out in front of her as she swallows back the remnants of whatever is in her cocktail glass, while Jasper plays the harmonica completely off tune.

Emmett staggers over to me and slaps me on the back. "Where were you?" he asks.

"Yeah. We've been looking for you. Charlie said you were helping out Bella, but we couldn't find you," Alice adds.

"I _was_ helping out Isabella, and then I saw her home."

"Oh! How romantic! Isn't that romantic, Jazz?" Alice asks, finally removing her now charred marshmallow from the flames.

Jasper stops playing and points the harmonica at me. "That's pretty smooth, Edward," he says.

"There was nothing smooth about it. It's dark outside, and its common courtesy. How was the fishing trip?" I ask, picking up a stray beer bottle from the lawn and putting it into the case beside Emmett's lawn chair.

"Oh, you should have come! It was totally wicked. We caught a whole bunch of salmon, and I saw another moose," Emmett explains excitedly. I wonder if it was that same moose from the first day we were here.

"And your day at the spa?" I ask, turning my attention to Rosalie.

"Heaven… pure heaven," Rosalie answers. "What about you, Edward? Please don't tell me you spent the day holed up in Bella's office."

"Not the whole day, no," I say, smiling at her.

"Oh! Hold the phone!" she yells, pushing up off the lawn chair and falling back into it promptly. I wonder how much they've been drinking. Clearly more than the allotted two drinks, at this point. "What's that little smile for?"

"What little smile?" I adjust my glasses and move to the stairs in front of my balcony.

"Edward! Tell us! What else happened today?" Alice presses.

"Nothing happened," I say, feeling myself blush while Emmett makes cat calls at me. "Keep your voice down, Emmett!" Honestly, he's like a child sometimes. "I'm turning in for the night. I'll see you all at breakfast in the morning. Six-thirty," I call over my shoulder, making my way up the stairs to my room as they continue to whistle after me.

Even though I have the windows shut, I can still hear their muffled voices, drifting up to me from the fire below as I hang up my jeans in the closet. I don't know how they are going to have the energy to take the rafting trip I booked them on tomorrow, given their current state.

I'm glad that I decided not to accompany them on this little excursion, now that I have so much work ahead of me with regards to Isabella's office. Well, to be honest, after I viewed the online video of rafting in the rapids and witnessed the sheer number of spills involved, I knew it was not an outing that would be high on my to do list.

I hang the zip up beside my jeans and retrieve my pajamas from the dresser drawer. I smile at the forget-me-knots on the desk as I make my way into the bathroom. I take my nightly vitamin and extra vitamin C tablet before getting into bed.

As exhausted as I am, unfortunately, sleep does not come quickly. My thoughts drift back to Isabella and our time together today. I've never done anything so spontaneous in my entire life, and while it was terrifying taking my jeans off and slipping into the hot spring in my boxers and t-shirt, it was also invigorating.

My whole life, I've thought that having plan was the way to go. Isabella is teaching me that sometimes, having no plan at all is a better idea. There is absolutely no way I ever would have planned an outing like the one she took me on today. Maybe I don't have all the answers… maybe going off the beaten path is worth it… and maybe I've just had one too many Irish Charlie's.

I shut off the light beside the bed and close my eyes.

Seven hours and twenty eight minutes. Time remaining until I potentially get to see her again.

Eleven. Number of erections I've had today.

Sixteen. Number of bears on each of her socks.

Four. Pictures of the Space Needle that she drew after talking to me.

One very extraordinary woman.

Chapter End Notes:

Well, how do you like our Edward now?

Twitter: CarLemon


	7. Chapter 7

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful story: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO_

_Thanks to those reading, reviewing and recommending this story.. As always, let me know what you think._

Chapter 7

_**Edward**_

5:32 AM. Time I finally decided to get out of bed after yet another restless night's sleep.

Two hundred and seven. Number of sit ups I did this morning before pulling a muscle. See? This is why I stick to easy runs on the treadmill.

Sixteen. Number of minutes I've been sitting alone in the restaurant, waiting. I am starting to come to the realization that much of my life has been spent waiting. Waiting for Emmett or Jasper. Waiting for meals and deadlines, and my students who are notoriously late and seem to lack the concept of arriving to class on time. And I am starting to recognize, waiting for something to excite me as much as the last forty-eight hours has.

As I sit, studying my agenda, even though I have it memorized, I can feel my heart rate rise as the plan for the last two days sits in front of me, uncompleted. Mind you, it isn't exactly action packed. Getting familiar with the surroundings of the Lodge and then taking a tour of Cooper Landing surely can't take the five hours I allotted for yesterday. Still, the fact remains that those items are yet to be checked off the agenda list, and that is unsettling.

Scanning the entries for my activities today, I wonder if I will in fact get to take a canoe ride down the Kanai River. While I am certainly not about to jump in a raft and attempt to make it down a set of raging rapids like Emmett and the rest of my companions are doing today, a leisurely canoe ride on a calm river does sound relaxing.

I also have the remainder of Isabella's paperwork to categorize and start to task on, which could take me the better part of the day. Then, there is the matter of finding a place to rent a suitable form of transportation. With the last few days of our agenda taking us to Mount McKinley, we are going to need a sturdy SUV.

Leah arrives at my table with a wicker basket full of Bella's buns along with two poached eggs on dry rye toast. At least I didn't have to order the buns in front of everyone this morning.

Leah is very pleasant, and I don't at all understand what she sees in Jacob Black. They appear to be polar opposites; Jacob with his boorish and obnoxious behaviour, making sure everyone within ear shot hears what he is saying, and Leah, reserved and quiet. Perhaps there is something to the belief that opposites attract.

I stare out the window at the crisp, clear morning, taking a bite of the cinnamon bun. It tastes like heaven, and I shut my eyes, savouring the flavour... rich vanilla icing, just the perfect consistency, mixes with the nutty pecan essence as I delight in the warm pastry.

"Enjoying my buns?" Bella's voice causes me to choke, my eyes flying opening as I hack and swallow.

I feel myself flush while I reach for my water glass, drinking the majority of it down. She slips into the booth across from me, her expression clearly one of amusement. I fumble to try to stand up before she sits down, but I'm not fast enough.

"Do you always sneak up on your guests like that?" I ask, repositioning the napkin on my lap. Yes... that's a good thing. I can sense I'm going to need it to cover the next erection that is around the corner.

"Do you always zone out when you're eating pastry?"

I furrow my brow at her. "Zone out?"

"Yeah. You had your eyes shut, and you were moaning away like it's the best thing you've ever eaten or something," she says, smiling back at me.

"It is certainly in the top ten."

"What else is?" she asks, swiping one of the buns from the basket and taking a bite.

"Are you stealing my breakfast?" I ask.

She quirks an eyebrow, breaking off a corner of the bun then handing it to me. "I can share," she offers.

Yet another thing on the extremely long list of activities I'm not comfortable with. I don't like sharing my food. It was never a problem with Jessica, since she had no appetite whatsoever and seemed content to just pick away at whatever minimal meal she would barely eat. "No, thank you."

"So?"

"So what?"

"What else is on your top ten food list?" she asks.

"Oh... um... oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, fresh out of the oven, and my mother's homemade fudge."

She cocks her head to the side. "I never pictured you having a sweet tooth."

"Yes, well, they're all indulgences. I don't have them very often."

"You should. It's good to indulge," she says, taking another bit of the bun.

"And what do you indulge in?" I'm instantly regretful of my words. Where did that even come from? _What do you indulge in? _Isn't that a little forward?

"Hmmm. Reality TV, hair metal bands from the eighties, and baths. If I could get all three of those happening at the same time, life would be good."

_Oh dear Lord._ The baths, I can handle, especially if they are anything like our venture into the hot spring yesterday. At that thought, my trousers instantly tighten. See? The napkin has more than one use. "Hair bands from the eighties?" I question.

"Yeah, you know... Poison, Motley Crue, Bon Jovi..." She sighs, looking out the window before continuing. "Cinderella, Def Leppard... Oh! Rat!"

"What? Where?" I scan the restaurant looking for the nasty rodent. The Lodge has rats?

Isabella bursts out laughing, her head thrown back against the booth. "Not the animal. Ratt with two T's. It's a metal band, Edward," she explains, shaking her head at me. I stare back at her; I'm sure looking like a fool. Who would name their band _Ratt_? "Oh, come on! _Out of the Cellar?_ One of _the _greatest rock albums of all time? Ringing any bells?"

"No. I haven't heard of Ratt... with two Ts."

"That is just tragic," she says, still laughing. "How about this?" She takes another bite of the bun, a small dollop of icing lingering on the corner of her mouth. "Tonight, you can come over, and we'll listen to _Out of the Cellar_. I still have the record." My eyes widen at that piece of information. "Yeah, I know you can download it from the internet, but there's something about hearing a needle drop on vinyl, listening to the scratches on it that makes it better, you know?"

I've lost the ability to speak. While we clearly do not share the same taste in music, which quite frankly concerns me more than it probably should, we do share the love of vinyl records. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that I can travel with my classical choices tucked safely away on my iPod, but she is right... there is something extremely unique about listening to masterpieces on a record... it's even better live. I wonder if she has ever attended the symphony in Anchorage. Experiencing a live orchestra is something everyone should do.

"Helloooo? Edward? You still with me?" she asks, waving her hand in front of me.

"Yes. I'm still... _with you_."

"So? What do you think? A night of heavy metal? I'll even cook."

I glance at my agenda, even though I know every single thing on it. I need a moment to compose myself. The thought of spending more time with Isabella is both terrifying and thrilling. I adjust my glasses, looking back at her and wondering why this fantastic woman wants to spend time with someone like me. Before I have a chance to question it further, the words come flowing out of my mouth. "I would be honoured to join you."

"Honoured? Edward, its not like I'm the Queen of England or something, and you've seen my place," she says, as if this is not a big deal at all.

"What can I bring?" I ask, rising from my seat as she scoots out of the booth.

She shakes her head, her hand resting on my arm as she looks up at me, her eyes alight. "Just you."

_BTN_

Three thousand four hundred and eighteen. The number of entries I've made today into the expense spreadsheet I've created for Isabella's extremely varied purchases that she has made over the last four years.

Six. Number of Victoria's Secret catalogues, which I found and quickly moved to the review pile for Isabella. I felt myself flush each time I pulled one from the cardboard box, quickly turning it over onto the pile as if it was on fire. Unfortunately, turning over the catalogue only resulted in my eyes falling on a different scantily clad woman. I quickly covered the catalogues with a blank sheet of paper, forging onto the next mystery item in the box.

One grilled American Swiss cheese sandwich and spinach salad that Isabella brought to me for lunch. Normally, I would take my dressing on the side, as too much can cause the spinach to become soggy, but the last thing I want to do is offend her. Much to my surprise, the salad contained the perfect amount of dressing. It is, quite possibly, the best spinach salad I've ever had.

I've been pouring over the contents of the box, itemizing them for the last five hours and twenty-seven minutes, when she bursts into the office, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, her plaid shirt tied at the waist, looking beautifully frazzled. "Edward? Can you help me?"

I am up and out of the squeaky office chair immediately, thankful for a distraction. My eyes are starting to hurt from the strain of staring at the computer for too long. "Of course. What do you need help with?"

"The liquor order for the bar is here. Normally, Jake helps me, but he's flown into Anchorage with Leah, and Dad isn't back from the fishing charter this morning," she explains.

I internally cringe. Liquor bottles are heavy and likely packed in boxes that I'm never going to be able to lift. I wish Emmett was here or even Jasper to assist. But still, she shouldn't be trying to lift boxes by herself, so without further hesitation, I follow her outside.

The afternoon air is cool as I make my way to the large delivery truck, which is parked behind the lodge. I wish I had put on my overcoat before venturing outside. I think about going back in to get it, but am stopped by a burly, balding man with tattoos, who thrusts a massive cardboard box into my chest from the back of the truck. I barely have my arms around it before he lets go, my knees buckling under the weight and the awkward angle of the box.

I stumble back, the bottles rattling in the box, and somehow miraculously manage not to fall. I do, however, bump into Isabella as I turn for the bar. She giggles, smiling up at me, steadying her hand under the box as it starts to slip from my grasp. "Better watch where you're going," she says, taking the box from me easily.

I blink at her, floored by the fact that the box doesn't seem heavy for her at all. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't see you there," I stammer.

"It's okay," she says, adjusting the box and turning for the bar. I watch her in awe, pushing my glasses back up my nose.

"Hey, Romeo," a deep voice calls from behind me. I turn back the truck, the tattooed delivery man scowling at me. "I know her ass is fine, but I don't have all day." He heaves another box at me, and I grip it tightly. At least this one isn't as heavy.

Isabella meets me at the door of the bar, placing her hands under the box in an attempt to take it. I pull it back from her. "I can take it to where you store them, Isabella," I offer, hoping the remaining boxes are not as heavy as the first.

"It's okay. We'll have like an assembly line," she says, removing the box from my hands and disappearing into a dark storage room.

Over the next twenty minutes, I begin to wonder why the Lodge requires this amount of alcohol. Twenty-six different boxes of varying sizes have been put through our "assembly line." That must be enough for several months, given the number of guests that the Lodge can hold at any one time.

I watch as Isabella gives the delivery man a hug and then waves to him as the truck pulls away from the bar. He honks the obnoxious horn on the truck three times before disappearing down the gravel road.

She makes her way back to me, smiling as the wind catches a strand of her wayward hair, whipping it around her face. "Thanks for helping," she says, squeezing my arm gently as she brushes past me into the bar.

"You are most welcome." I follow her into her office, watching as she plunks down on the chair behind the desk. "If you have the invoice for the delivery, I can add it to the expense spreadsheet I've started."

She furrows her brow at me. "Invoice?" she asks.

You have got to be kidding me. She didn't get an invoice, a delivery receipt, nothing from what must be thousands of dollars worth of alcohol. "Yes, from that delivery."

She waves me off, taking a big gulp of water from my glass on the desk. "Oh, he doesn't give me invoices. I've already paid him. He just calls me and tells me how much I owe him and then delivers everything. He comes like once a month or something," she says dismissively.

I cringe at her utter lack of understanding and detail on this subject. "But how do you keep track of your inventory? Of which liquor is selling the best? Of when you need to restock?" I ask.

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. We just look in the storage room, and if we're low on something, I'll ask him to bring me more. We never run out of anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"Isabella, this isn't about running out of alcohol. You are probably paying this man far too much for the amount of liquor your bar requires. You surely can't go through twenty-six boxes of liquor in a month," I state.

She smirks at me, an amused expression on her face. "Well, the delivery was bigger this time, because of Leah and Jacob's wedding. See? I _can _plan things," she teases.

I instantly feel horrible for chastising her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you didn't plan things… I just… I can't…" I rake my fingers through my hair. I'm sure I've offended her.

"It's alright. Obviously, I'm horrible at keeping track of stuff," she says, motioning to the final box of envelopes that I'm almost through. "I'm looking forward to learning a thing or two from you, Edward." My mouth drops open as I fight to find my voice. She gets up from the chair, stopping beside me. "Dinner at six?" She lifts her eyebrows to me, and I just nod… that's the wisest response, as I'm sure if I tired to speak, it would all just come out as a jumbled mess.

She smiles, sauntering out the door, leaving me speechless.

_BTN_

I shift nervously in front of the closet while Alice and Rosalie both sit cross-legged on the bed. "This one or this one," I ask, holding up two pressed dress shirts.

"You mean the blue or the blue?" Rosalie asks incredulously.

"I didn't ask you here so you could make fun of my wardrobe."

"I know. I'm just teasing, Edward. You know you're always perfectly dressed. Why are you worried about this? It's just dinner," Rosalie says gently.

I let out a nervous sigh. "It's not _just_ dinner, Rosalie. She's invited me to her home, and she's… she's…" I struggle to form the words to describe how she makes me feel.

Alice leaps off the bed, placing her hands on my shoulders in an effort to calm me. "You really like her, don't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" They both just smile at me. "I'm being too forward, aren't I?" I ask quietly.

"I don't think anyone would ever accuse you of being forward. Just be you. She won't be able to resist you," Rosalie says, joining Alice. She takes the dark blue oxford shirt from my right hand and holds it up. "This one."

I nod at her choice. "Which tie?" I ask.

Alice shakes her head. "No tie," she says, almost in a scolding tone.

"Who doesn't wear a tie to dinner? It's not right… and I'd feel… it will make me more nervous if I don't wear one," I try to explain, knowing it's probably impossible for them to understand.

They exchange glances before Rosalie begins to search in the closet for my ties. "Okay. We'll give on the tie, but how about you ditch the vest?" Alice asks hopefully.

"What's wrong with vests?"

"Nothing, it's just that you have a great chest, and you really can't see it under three layers of clothes," Alice says.

I furrow my brow at her, wondering if she's been drinking. "I don't have a great chest. I don't even lift any weights."

"You're lean and firm. Trust me… you have a great chest," Rosalie says definitively, thrusting a silk blue and red tie at me.

I look between them skeptically, but they seem confident. "Okay. No vest," I relent. Alice claps her hands together excitedly as I lay the clothes out on the bed.

"Oh, do you need condoms?" Rosalie asks seriously, leaning against the desk at the window.

I gape at her in disbelief. "What kind of a question is that? I don't need condoms."

"You're right. Bella probably has some," she continues.

"Don't talk about her that way. What would make you assume that she has condoms?" I argue, my voice rising.

"Hello? She's single, in a small town, with tourists drifting in and out all time." My mouth drops open at her blatant insinuation. "It's nothing to be ashamed about. It's practical and common sense for a single woman to be prepared," Rosalie explains.

"I'm going over there for dinner, Rosalie. Even if I am attracted to her, I've only just met her, and I don't have a habit of dropping into bed with someone for casual sex, unlike some other people I know." Rosalie raises an eyebrow to me. "I'm sorry. That was completely out of line. I don't know what's wrong with me," I mumble, horrified at my behaviour. I need to pull together some semblance of composure before I make an utter fool of myself at Isabella's.

"It wasn't out of line. It's the truth. Emmett and I _did_ have sex within about two hours of meeting each other. How about you and Jazz, Ali?"

Alice scrunches her face up, like she's trying to remember or something. "Hmm… First date, I think… wait, was that actually a date? I'll have to ask him," she says.

I shake my head at both of them. "Please don't ask him. Trust me when I tell you, I don't need the details."

_BTN_

I hold my overcoat at my neck as the cool evening air rises from the lake. My heart is racing, my palms sweaty as I make my way down the hill towards Isabella's cabin and my evening of eighties hair bands. If I'm being honest, I'm not at all looking forward to enduring a night filled with bad guitar riffs and screaming, which barely passes for singing, but if it means I get to spend more time with her, I will gladly endure it.

Even though Isabella said I just needed to bring me, it feels wrong to arrive to dinner empty handed, which is why Rosalie and Alice helped me pick a small selection of wild flowers once we finalized my attire for the evening.

It was a much needed distraction which served to calm my restless nerves. I made sure not to include forget-me-nots in the bouquet. The last thing I need is to be sneezing all night.

The selection was limited, but I hope that Isabella isn't disappointed. If we were in Seattle, I could have stopped at a florist shop to purchase a proper bouquet, or perhaps selected a vintage bottle of wine. Those options are clearly not available, and so I grip the stems of the flowers tightly, hoping they don't seem pathetic.

As I approach her cabin, the sound of blaring guitars drifts to me through the open windows along the side of the cabin. I try desperately not to cringe. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Movement in the amber glow of one of the windows stops me immediately, and I bare witness to Isabella, jumping up and down erratically, singing into a spoon at the top of her lungs.

_Out on the streets_

_That's where we meet_

I know I shouldn't be staring… it borders on voyeuristic, but I can't tear myself away. She flips her hair back and forth, and then in wild circles, losing her balance, becoming dizzy, and giggling to herself.

She continues to hum as she turns her back to the window and appears to stir something, maybe on the stove, her hips gyrating back and forth to the wretched beat of whatever god-awful song is piercing in the background.

The jumping starts again as she recommences singing.

_Round and round  
What comes around goes around  
I'll tell you why_

I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing. She's absolutely magnificent. Totally open and free, unafraid to embrace the emotions this horrific song brings her. I move from the window, becoming uncomfortable of leering at her like some peeping Tom, and make my way to her front door, my uneasiness returning as soon as I knock on it.

I count to thirty-eight before I realize she likely cannot hear the knock over the incessant wailing of what she terms music. My ear drums nearly bleed with the relentless shriek of guitars blasting from the living room. I'm not sure how long I'm going to be able to tolerate it.

I wait for a break in the song and knock more loudly than I ever normally would. "I'm coming," she yells. The music stops abruptly, and then I hear the jiggling of the lock on the door. I rake my fingers through my hair, willing my heart to calm while the door opens.

Unfortunately, my heart only races faster when I see her, her hair a wild, wayward mess from the dancing, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising and falling quickly under a deep green sweater. My eyes travel down her body, taking in her loose black jeans and multi-coloured striped socks. _Not helping for the erection._

"Hi," she breathes, bringing me out of my momentary stupor.

"You look lovely." She blushes and leans against the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

She laughs, sweet and exhilarating while she shakes her head at me. "You didn't offend me. No one has ever called me lovely before," she says.

"That's impossible," I answer.

"Oh, trust me… it's possible. Come in." She holds the door open wider, stepping to the side. I move inside, standing in the small entranceway, shifting nervously as the faint aroma of garlic and tomatoes floats to me. "I'm making Italiano tonight. Is that okay?" she asks.

"Of course. It smells wonderful."

"What do you have there?" she asks, her eyes drifting up to mine.

"Oh, these are for you," I answer, holding out the tiny bouquet of wild flowers to her, praying that it doesn't seem too meager.

"You picked flowers for me?" she asks in disbelief, her eyes wide. Has no one ever brought her flowers? What kind of men has she been entertaining who would neglect such an important gesture?

"Well, truthfully, Alice and Rosalie helped. I'm sorry they're not a proper bouquet, and I don't know what any of them are or what they mean. I couldn't research properly, but-" My momentary panic is obliterated as she reaches for my hand, lacing her fingers with mine and squeezing gently.

"They're beautiful. Thank you."

I breathe a sigh of relief and relish in the feel of her skin against mine. All too soon, she releases my hand, shutting the door. "I'll put these in water. You can just leave your coat on the table there," she yells over her shoulder, disappearing into the kitchen.

I scowl at the table in the entry way. It is clearly not to be used to idly toss clothing on, even though it currently houses several hoodies, scarves, and hats. I unbutton my overcoat and drape it over my arm, eyeing a door on the opposite wall that I am assuming is a closet.

I turn the handle and pull; however, it appears to be stuck. I jiggle it, pulling repeatedly until the door bursts open, and I'm assaulted with the contents of the closet that rain down on me... jackets, hats, a myriad of clothing practically attack me, and I throw my arms up to shield myself. "Ow!" Was that a tennis racket?

"Edward? Are you..." Isabella's voice trails and through the mass of clothing that I'm practically buried under, I see her stop beside me, her hand flying to her mouth as she tries desperately not to laugh. "Are you alright?" she manages, biting down on her lip.  
"There's a good reason I told you to just put your jacket on the table."

"I can see that," I reply dryly.

She wades through the clothes, reaching up and removing a pale pink sweater that is draped over my head, her expression playful. "This really isn't your colour," she says, tossing it over her shoulder.

Unable to contain ourselves further, we both burst out laughing. I would gladly welcome the contents of any closet falling on me if I got a chance to hear her laugh like that again. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. I'm clearly a disaster." She snorts and covers her face, the laughter subsiding into giggling as she peeks up at me. "Don't hate me."

"I could never hate you. It's just some clothes… oh, and this," I say, bending down to pick up the tennis racket. I rub my forehead where it hit me as I hold it out to her. "I take it you play?"

She scoffs at me. "No. I played like once. It was a gift from Ril—" She stops abruptly before finishing her thought, her expression hardening slightly. "I don't play. I should probably just turf it." She furrows her brow and gently lifts her hand to my forehead. She runs her fingers over the tiny bump that I can feel pulsating as I hold my breath and try not to pass out. "You're going to have a bump, there."

"I'll survive," I squeak out. It actually does smart, but I'm not about to tell her that. I think one round of mortification is enough. I'm surprised she hasn't kicked me out.

She slides her fingers away from my face, taking a step away from me. "Okay, well, dinner is almost ready. Oh! Do you want some wine?" she asks, stepping over the heap of clothes on her way to the kitchen.

I stand, staring after her in the middle of the entryway, surrounded in a sea of her clothes. How can she just walk away from this mess? "Um… shouldn't we… I mean, don't you think we should clean this up?"

She turns around, smirking at me. "It'll still be there whenever we're done, and wine is more important than some stupid old clothes," she says nonchalantly as she walks backwards, beckoning me to her with a hooked finger.

It's like I've been worked into a trance by her. I take a deep breath and set the tennis racket down, abandoning the jumbled mess on the floor and join her in the kitchen. I take an audible gasp in as I walk into pure chaos. The closet has nothing on this.

The beige stove is laden with pots, all of which are bubbling over, spewing their contents onto the aging cook top that looks to be at least twenty-five years old. The refrigerator is an avocado green colour, and is covered with magnets and drawings. The counter top is overloaded with fresh vegetables, various cooking utensils, bowls, and several loose sheets of paper with hand written notes on them.

There is a small round table in the corner, surrounded by four chairs that don't match, and covered by a bright blue cotton tablecloth with bears on it. It's completely over stimulating… so much colour and disorder in such a small space. I shut my eyes and try to calm down, remembering that not everyone is as meticulous as I am when it comes to their kitchen.

I try to focus on the fact that I don't think I've ever smelled anything as good as whatever she is preparing. The aromas are magnificent. When I open my eyes, she's standing before me, holding out a glass of red wine. "Thank you," I say, taking the glass from her.

"I know. I'm a disaster when I cook. My mom cooked like this, too. Everything was everywhere," she explains, laughing. "Dad would always just take one look at us and hightail it out of the kitchen whenever we were in it. He never complained about eating it, though." She runs her fingers over one of the wayward pieces of paper on the counter, smiling to herself. "We still use her recipes in the restaurant. She was an amazing cook… she was an amazing woman." She sighs deeply and turns to me, her expression lifting. "Enough with the heavy. What should we drink to?"

I'm immediately taken aback. I didn't plan a toast, and impromptu ones are certainly not my strong suit. "I don't… um…" I shift nervously as she stares up at me expectantly. I look from the recipes on the counter, back to her and say, without hesitation, "An amazing woman."

Chapter End Notes:

So, what do you think the rest of the night will bring for these two?

_Round and Round_- Lyrics by Stephen Pearcy, Robbin Crosby, Warren De Martini, 1984 Come on… I know you were singing it.

Twitter: CarLemon


	8. Chapter 8

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful story: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO_

_Thanks to those reading, recommending, and reviewing this little story. As always, let me know what you think._

_**Edward**_

_**Chapter 8**_

Two. The number of times Isabella has refilled my plate with the best pasta primavera I think I've ever had.

Four. The number of times my leg has touched hers under the table.

One. Yes… the erection that will never go away.

"More wine?" Isabella asks while she refills my glass without waiting for a reply. I shift uneasily in the creaky red wooden chair. This will be my third glass, and I'm already feeling the effects of too much alcohol.

I study the alcohol percentage on the bottle, knowing it is far over that of my usual lite beers. I need to keep my wits about me and becoming inebriated will only serve to cause me embarrassment. Trust me… I've been there.

The one and only time I was drunk was during university orientation week, when Emmett applied me with copious amounts of what he termed _Killer Kool-Aid_, alleging that it did not contain alcohol, but was merely to keep me hydrated.

I knew, of course, that was a blatant lie, but I was young and did not want to stick out anymore than I already did. So, I served up and sipped on his _Killer Kool-Aid_ mix until I ended up throwing up in the spruce hedges outside of the dorm room.

I wasn't alone in my shame; several others had a difficult time handling the sheer amount of alcohol contained within the mystery concoction. Unfortunately, many didn't make it outside, judging by the mess I had to clean up. Yes… guess who was on hung-over-clean-up-duty the next day?

And so, it was then I found my place of sorts in the background of Emmett's university life. If I was on hand for one of his many legendary parties, I would collect coats at the door, storing them neatly in the closet. I would serve drinks, refill the snack mix, collect empty beer bottles, ensure plastic cups were disposed of, and drive drunken students back to their apartments who were foolish enough to drive on a night where there was sure to be drinking involved. I didn't mind helping out at all. Even though I was essentially invisible, it was a break from the solidarity I found myself in, and truth be told, Emmett _did_ need the help.

"Do you not like red wine?" Isabella asks, taking a sip as she stares at me over the rim of her glass.

"It's a lovely wine. I'm just not that much of a drinker," I say, hoping I don't sound like a prude. "The pasta is wonderful. You are an amazing chef."

Her skin flushes slightly while she mops up the remaining marinara sauce on her plate with a chunk of garlic bread. "They're all basically Mom's recipes that I fool around with. I wouldn't be able to make anything the same way twice."

I scowl at her. "You should write down the changes you make. Then, you'd always have them," I suggest.

She waves me off casually. "I just throw in whatever spices I have and hope for the best," she says. I stare back at her in disbelief. I don't think I would ever be able to cook that way… to deviate from a recipe seems just… wrong. "What? You've never improvised in the kitchen?"

"I can't remember a time when I have," I say truthfully.

"What happens if you really want a hot dog and you're out of ketchup?"

"I doubt that would ever happen. I keep an extra bottle of ketchup stored in my pantry, and when the open one is half empty, I buy another." Her smile widens. "Also, I would never eat a hot dog. Do you have any idea what the ingredients are?"

She holds her hand up, her palm facing me. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Let me stay in my happy place, with my hot dog, preferably smoked over an open fire pit," she says happily, rising from the table with her plate.

I push back the chair and stand, reaching for the plate in her hand. "Please, let me. You cooked, the least I can do is clean up."

She smiles, her fingers brushing mine as I take the plate from her. "You don't have to do that. I was just going to leave them in sink and get them in the morning," she says.

I feel my eyes grow wide at her admission. How could she possibly sleep with a sink full of dirty dishes? "How about this? You go and put on your beloved Ratt with two Ts album, and I'll clean up in here," I suggest.

She stares back at me, biting down on her lip. "Deal." I watch her move out of the kitchen, stepping over the pile of clothes in the middle of the hallway as if they aren't even there.

I collect the remaining dishes and cutlery from the table, place them in the sink and fill it with water. I smile at the familiar bottle of Ivory dish soap. It's the same brand that I use. I unbutton my shirt cuffs, rolling the sleeves up to my elbows and set to task on the dishes. I scowl at the dish drainer and tray, which appear to be quite old. The tray even has a hole in it.

As I'm working my way through the cutlery and utensils, I hear another less ear splitting guitar riff fill the living room, along with Isabella's voice as she yells at the top of her lungs, "Is there a doctor in the house?"

Oh no! What's she done now?" "Are you ill?" I ask, grabbing a hand towel from the handle of the oven and wiping my hands as I peer into the living room.

Isabella is anything but ill. She is jumping in the living room to the beat of the music and happily singing along.

_Your love is like bad medicine_

_Bad medicine is what I need_

_Shake it up, just like bad medicine_

_There ain't no doctor that can_

_Cure my disease_

Despite the obvious grammatical nightmare of the lyrics of this song, it's at least tolerable. It's also a different band than Ratt with two Ts. Of that much, I'm sure.

I move back to start on the plates, stacking them into the drainer, once they have been scrubbed. I can't help but smile as she belts out the song, her voice getting louder. Isabella's happiness is infectious. I can't remember the last time I've felt this comfortable with another person.

As I'm searching in her cupboards for a container to store the leftover pasta in, I see her dance into the kitchen, using the discarded tennis racket as an air guitar, which fell on my head earlier. "Come on, Edward! You know the words," she says excitedly.

I shake my head at her, momentarily frozen while I watch her. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair more disheveled, her nipples… _Oh God!_ _Not now!_ I turn away from her, focusing back on the cupboard, silently willing my erection away. "Actually, no, I don't know the words," I admit.

"Oh my God! Are you serious? Have you been living under a rock?" she asks, leaning against the counter beside me.

"Something like that," I mumble, spooning the contents of the pot into the container.

"It's _Bon Jovi_! Please tell me that you've heard of them," she says, continuing to bob her head to the beat.

"Yes. I've heard of them. I'm just not familiar with this particular song." _Oh please. Do not let her notice this._ I need to think of something else. As she dances around the kitchen, I rack my brain, trying to focus on something other than the fact that her body sways perfectly in the light of the kitchen, every curve of her torso accentuated by the way her sweater falls over her body.

_Not helping! _Right… tax deductions… the big burly delivery man from earlier today… Emmett, scratching himself in the morning… Yes… that would do it. I breathe a sigh of relief, snapping the lid shut on the container before placing the pots from the stove in the sink to soak.

The song, along with Isabella's dancing and off key singing, come to an unfortunate end, while I store the vegetables back in her fridge and wipe down the kitchen counter. She sets the racket on the counter, leaning against it in the process. "Mom loved Bon Jovi," she says, smiling softly. My heart breaks for her and the devastating loss of her mother. I can't imagine what she must have gone through. If anything ever happened to Esme… I will that thought to the back of my mind.

"She sounds wonderful, Isabella. I'm so sorry that you lost her."

She blinks up at me, fighting back emotion. "It's okay. That's one of the reasons I keep all the records. It reminds me of her. She liked all kinds of different music," she explains. I smile back at her while she shakes her head. "You know what else the records remind me of?"

"What?"

"High school." I groan and roll my eyes. There's something I don't need to be reminded of. "They used to play all kinds of eighties music at the dances. It was heaven," she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me gently from the counter. "Come here. I want to show you something."

I trip over a small bump in her linoleum floor, stumbling forward slightly as she makes her way back to the living room. We pass the entranceway, which is now free from the debris which attacked me earlier. "You put the clothes from the closet away?" I ask in amazement.

"I just pushed it all back inside. I'll deal with it later," she says casually. I furrow my brow at the closet door, trying not the think about the disorganized mess that is waiting to fall on the next poor, unsuspecting soul who decides to open the door.

As we make our way into the living room, the music is significantly louder. Thankfully, Isabella moves to the record player, turning down the volume. "There. At least I can hear myself think, now," she says, reaching up on her toes to the bookcase beside the record player. She pulls down a series of hardcover books and then sinks down into the couch.

She pats the seat beside her. "Take a load off. These are good for a laugh." I sink down into the space beside her, eyeing the books curiously. "They're my high school yearbooks," she explains. "You can learn a lot about a person from their yearbook."

She opens one of the books, reading a few of the inscriptions, smiling to herself. The first two pages are covered with signatures and warm wishes, no doubt from the multitude of friends she had.

I refrain from telling her my senior yearbook was signed by exactly four people. Emmett, Jasper, Alec, who ripped it out my hand and proceeded to scribble all over the first page before Emmett caught him and chased him down the hall, and my calculus teacher.

We spend the next thirty-five minutes, pouring over the books while the Bon Jovi record spins in the background. Isabella was clearly just as engaging then as she is now. She was on the cheerleading team, the social committee, was the president of the student council, and valedictorian of her graduating class.

She giggles as she turns the page to a picture of Jacob, appearing to be dancing in the middle of a large circle of people, dressed in formal attire. "Jacob took Leah and me to the prom. He's such a goof," she says, rolling her eyes.

A foreign feeling spreads through me, my body stiffening. I'm jealous… I'm jealous of Jacob Black. The fact that this man is so close to Isabella, and they have clearly shared many heart felt experiences together bothers me greatly. "You and Jacob are very close," I say.

"Jacob and Leah are my best friends. We've been through a lot together," she says. I nod, not wanting to ruin my evening with thoughts of Jacob Black and Bella… together. "So, tell me about your prom. Who did you go with?"

I rake my fingers through my hair, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. "I never went to the prom," I admit quietly, peeking over at her. Even if there was anyone I was remotely interested in, I would never have had the courage to ask them, and no one would be foolish enough to ask the resident geek of the school to accompany them. That would have been tantamount to social suicide.

Her brow furrows as she squeezes my hand. "Well, that's just bullshit!" she yells, leaping up from the couch and racing into the kitchen as I scramble to stand up. I push my glasses up the bridge of my noise, straining my neck in an effort to try to see what she's doing. Cupboards bang and drawers slam open and shut as my mind races of what on earth she could be doing.

She finally reappears from the kitchen, walking to me with one of the white flowers from the bouquet in her hand. The thin stem has been cut short, and she's holding it out to me. "What are you doing?" I ask as she stops in front of me.

"You're taking me to the prom," she says seriously. "Right now."

"What? I don't… I'm not… What are you talking about?" I stammer.

She smiles warmly, reaching down to my hand and placing the flower in my palm. I look down at it while she holds out a large safety pin to me. "Come on. It'll be fun. You can pin this on me, and your hand can slip down to try to cop a feel," she says. "You know, typical high school guy stuff."

I feel the heat rise in my face. "I would never…" It's all I can manage. My mouth goes dry at the mere thought of feeling Isabella's breasts—_Oh God!_ I turn from her and widen the space between us, moving across to the other side of the room. I'm going to have to figure out something to do to control myself. These erections are becoming… problematic.

I take a series of deep breaths and then feel her hand gently squeeze my shoulder. "I'll help you pin it on," she says quietly, moving to stand in front of me.

She removes the flower from my hand and places it on her green sweater, above her heart, her eyes locked to mine. She lifts her eyebrows, and I take that as encouragement.

The Bon Jovi song in the background changes to a slower piece, calming me slightly. With shaking hands, I unhook the safety pin. I raise my fingers to the stem of the flower, trying desperately not to drop the pin.

Her chest rises and falls quickly as I try to focus on the stem of the flower, my trembling fingers working the pin through her sweater, around the stem, and then clasping it in place, aware that her eyes are on me the entire time.

"There, see? Not a big deal at all," she says casually. _Dear God!_ _Not a big deal?_ My entire body is shaking, my heart hammering so hard, I'm sure she must be able to hear it. "Let's dance."

I shut my eyes and swallow audibly. I take a step away from her. "I can't dance," I whisper, staring at the floor and wishing it would just swallow me up.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm a good teacher," she says, closing the distance between us until she is directly in front of me.

"Isabella, seriously," I say, not wanting to embarrass myself any more than I already have.

"It's not like we're Fred and Ginger here, Edward. School dancing is supposed to be awkward. Here." She grabs one of my hands, wrapping it around her waist, my eyes sliding shut at the feel of her tiny frame under my hand. She repeats the process with my other hand while I try not to pass out.

She slides her hands up my chest and around my neck. "Now, you just sway," she says quietly.

"Sway?" I open my eyes and stare down at her. She's absolutely breathtaking, and I feel my erection strain against the zipper of my trousers, again.

"Yeah, like this." She moves her hips fluidly from side to side, keeping her feet in place. "Try it. Just feel the music."

Okay, so that I can do. _Feeling_ the music has never been an issue for me, given my intense love of classical music. Moving to it is another matter entirely. "Don't think about it, just move," she encourages gently.

So, despite the fact that I'm almost hyperventilating, I close my eyes, focus on the melody of the song, and _just move._ It feels awkward and extremely ridiculous, but as I open my eyes and gaze into Isabella's, those feelings fall away.

She slides her hands up my neck, her fingers moving into my hair. My breathing hitches as she pulls her fingers through my hair, running them back down to my neck, her eyes closed while she moves to the music.

She inches her way closer, her torso flush against me, crushing the flower in the process, but I can't bring myself to care. Her movement causes my hands slip down farther to the small of her back, my body stiffening as hers molds to mine.

She hums, resting her head on my chest, and I've never felt more alive. "Now, we're going to move," she says.

"Move?" I squeak out.

"Yeah, just in a circle. Not too fast, or you'll get dizzy," she adds.

"Right… not too fast." _Oh, please, don't let me make a fool out of myself._

She shuffles to the right, and I do the same, looking down to make sure I don't step on her feet. We slowly move in a large circle, her hands making an almost torturous circuit from my neck to back. "Breathe, Edward." I take a shaky breath in while we start the circle again. "See? You're dancing. It's easy."

"Maybe for you," I say, my stare fixed firmly on my feet.

"You're doing great," she says, squeezing my shoulder.

I glance up from my feet, my eyes landing on hers… she's so unbelievably beautiful, and I'm completely lost. And it doesn't matter that I can't dance, or that I've never been to the prom. All that matters is that my arms are wrapped around this incredible woman as she patiently "teaches" me how to dance.

"You can totally dance. What are you talking about?" she asks, smirking at me.

"I'd hardly call moving in a circle dancing," I argue. "And—"

Before I can protest further, she's shushing me. "Shhhh! This is my favourite part," she says, staring up at me, her eyes searching mine.

_I'd live and I'd die for you  
Steal the sun from the sky for you  
Words can't say what love_

_Love-love-love-love-love_

"It's skipping," she whispers.

_Love-love-love_

"Hmm?"

"The record. It's skipping." Her hands slip from neck as she moves to the record player and lifts the needle. I watch her in awe while she removes the record, gently sliding it into the cover. "Thank you for the dance," she says, cradling the record against her chest.

"Thank you for showing me how."

She pushes the record onto the bottom shelf of the bookcase, and my eyes widen at the sheer number of albums she has stored there. "That's quite a collection of records," I say, joining her at the bookcase.

"Yeah. Some of them were Mom's," she says, squatting down in front of the shelf, running her fingers over the spines of the albums.

My mouth drops open when I see a Glenn Gould cover at the front of the stack. "You have Glenn Gould?" I ask in disbelief.

"Um… maybe?" Clearly, this was one of her mother's albums.

"May I look at it?"

"Go for it," she says, standing up and moving back to the couch.

I bend down, gently pulling the pristine album from the bookcase, running my hands over it. "This is his debut album from 1955," I say in amazement, straightening back up.

"You can put it on, it you want," she says. I tear my eyes from the album to her as she sits on the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself.

"Really?" I ask hopefully.

She nods her head, and I waste no time in slipping the record out from the sleeve, placing it on the player. I carefully set the needle down on the record, listening to the faint scratches before the melodic sounds of the pure piano genius that is Glenn Gould starts to flow into the room.

I shut my eyes, savouring the notes as they instantly calm me. "So, _this _is your genre of music?" Isabella asks.

I open my eyes and nod, feeling the smile fill my face. "Yes. I know it's not modern music, but-"

"It's beautiful," she says. "Come sit and listen." She pats the couch beside her, and I make my way over, sinking down on the cushion. "So, tell me about this Glenn guy."

"You really want to hear about Glenn Gould?" I ask skeptically.

"Why not? It's obviously important to you," she says.

"Well, he was renowned for his interpretation of Bach. This recording, for example, of Bach's Goldberg Variations is extremely difficult, but he had such technical proficiency, that it seems effortless," I explain.

"So, in other words, he's good?" she asks, stretching her legs out overtop of mine.

I quirk an eyebrow to her striped socks, chuckling under my breath. "Yes. He's very good." I lean back on the couch, letting the soothing sounds seep into me. "You have to wonder what he thought about, what he visualized when he was playing… each note is pure perfection." She smiles and nods in agreement. "It's sublime."

"And do you play Bach, too?" she asks, wiggling her toes at me.

"Not like this, no."

"Would you play for me, sometime?"

"Um… I don't… I've only ever played for my family," I say, hoping I don't disappoint her, but not feeling at all comfortable with the idea of playing for her.

She closes her eyes, resting her head back on the arm of the couch. "I'll get you playing that piano before you leave. You can bet on it."

I only hum in response, because something tells me I'll do just about anything she asks of me.

"Rubbing," she mutters, wiggling her toes again.

"Right." I pick up one of her sock-clad feet and start the foot massage, happy to be listening to something that relaxes me. "I'm sorry, I completely took over your eighties hair band night," I say.

She huffs. "Whatever. This is good, though you do have to admit that Richie Sambora totally rocks that guitar."

"Is he with Ratt with two Ts or Bon Jovi?" I ask.

"You have so much to learn," she teases. "Bon Jovi… hello? The lead guitar God."

"Oh, yes. He does seem to be rather good," I say. I can't deny that the guitar solos were extremely good, although clearly not something I would want to listen to on a regular basis.

She quirks an eyebrow to me. "Rather good?" I nod and start rubbing her other foot, applying deep pressure on her instep. She moans, throwing her head back on the arm rest. "God, you're good at this." I smile, continuing the massage. "And for future reference, as you would say, Richie Sambora is not just rather good… he's sublime."

I chuckle, continuing the massage, more content than I have been in a long time. Who knew an evening of eighties hair bands could turn out this way?

Chapter End Notes:

So… some progress? Is Edward staring to loosen up? Let me know your thoughts. Twitter: CarLemon Do yourself a favour, take nine minutes out of your day and check out Glenn Gould **Bach's Goldberg Variations. Trust me and Numberward… we wouldn't lie to you. Pure genius. Oh, and Mr. Gould… he's Canadian.**

www(dot) youtube(dot)/watch?v=64Xb3qiXR9Y&feature=fvst

_I'll Be There For You_ – Lyrics by Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora, 1989. Bon Jovi in all their big hair, brown leather pant glory…check it out just for the visual. Classic: www(dot)youtube.com/watch?v=mh8MIp2FOhc

_Bad Medicine – _Lyrics by Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora, Desmond Child, 1988

There are many version of Killer Kool-Aid, including this one… a personal favourite. Be careful… Numberward would want you to drink responsibly:

½ oz. vodka

½ oz gin

1 oz Melon liqueur

1 oz Amaretto

Cranberry Juice

Sprite


	9. Chapter 9

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful story, now completed: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO_

_Thanks to those reading and reviewing. As always, let me know what you think._

_Come join me… let's see what the rest of the night brings._

_Edward_

Chapter 9

The foot massage has lasted for the entire length of the first side of the Glenn Gould album, lulling us both into a state of relaxation. Isabella continues to let out contented sighs as I vary the pressure of the massage on her feet.

I hear the needle lift off the record and return to its cradle, watching while her eyes slide shut. "Hmm. This is nice," she says sleepily, letting out a large yawn and stretching her arms over her head.

I make the mistake of letting my eyes drift from her feet, up her legs, and I quickly become fixated on the creamy, flawless skin of her stomach, which is exposed, due to her sweater riding up as she stretches.

I instantly feel the stirrings of the traitor erection, and I wonder if there is actually something wrong with me. While I certainly have had erections before when I was with Jessica, they never were triggered by a mere glance.

Jessica was always the one to take the lead in our relationship. She knew what she wanted and wasted little time in letting me know what that was. As I think about it now, Jessica and I never just sat like this and enjoyed an evening together. There were restaurants to go to, movies to see, sex to be had, all on her terms, which at the time was fine with me.

Isabella moans once more, and I end the massage, knowing if I don't get some distance from her, its going to become glaringly obvious where my thoughts currently are. She's going to think I'm some kind of freak if she takes notice of the bulge that is threatening… Who am I trying to kid? She probably already does think that. "I should be going," I say, lifting her feet from my lap, and standing from the couch.

"What? No. You don't have to go," she replies, staring up at me and looking... disappointed? Clearly, the two glasses of wine are interfering with my thought processes. I should know better than to drink.

"It's getting quite late," I say.

She glances at the clock on the wall, furrowing her brow. "It's only ten."

I shift nervously, hoping I'm not offending her. "Yes, well, the last few days have been… eventful for me. I'm actually rather tired," I admit reluctantly.

Her face falls as she starts to fiddle with the tassels on one of the green throw pillows. "Oh. I get it," she mumbles.

I adjust my glasses, wondering what on earth she's talking about. "You get it?"

"Yeah. It's okay. I mean, I know I'm not that exciting."

I'm floored by her words. How can this amazing woman think she's not exciting? "Isabella, I've done more in the last forty-eight hours than I've done in months. I never expected to be spending my vacation like this. As I told you yesterday, I don't do things this way, and honestly, it's all a little overwhelming. You're a little overwhelming… in a good way. I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I'll just go."

"Wait!" Isabella vaults up from the couch, blocking my path and swaying slightly. She grips my arms to steady herself. "I think I got up too fast," she says, looking up at me. She's so beautiful, and I'm painfully aware that I am already in way over my head.

"It's the endorphins."

She smirks at me. "What?"

"During a massage, your body releases endorphins. It makes you feel light-headed," I explain.

"So does the bottle of wine I drank," she teases. "But I don't think either one of those things are the reasons I'm light-headed."

She stares up at me, and once again, I'm lost. There is no way Isabella is interested in someone like me. We are both clearly feeling the effects of too much alcohol, which is why I need to go. The problem is, even though I know I should leave, I really don't want to.

"We haven't even had dessert yet," she says. "You wouldn't want to miss _sex in a pan,_ now, would you?" I feel my eyes grow wide as I stare back at her, utterly speechless. She giggles, pulling me by the arm back into the kitchen.

_What am I getting myself into?_ I feel the panic start to overtake me as my mind races to what on earth she could be talking about. What is _sex in a pan_? Do I really want to know the answer to that?

She drops my hand and opens the aging refrigerator, pulling out a glass dish and setting it on the counter. "It's my mom's recipe. Well, kind of. I changed it a bit. I used _Skor_ bars this time." I shut my eyes and take a series of deep breaths. "Vanilla and chocolate pudding layered on a crust of pecans. How can you go wrong, really?" she asks casually.

I open my eyes, staring at the delectable dessert in the pan. "I don't know," I answer. She laughs, fishing out two forks from one of the drawers in front of her.

She lifts an eyebrow to me, dipping a fork into the dessert and holding it over the pan. "Want a taste?"

I swallow… loudly, watching as she brings the fork to my lips. "Isabella…"

"What? Come on, don't be shy. You told me yourself you have a sweet tooth," she urges. "I thought you would like this."

"I do… I mean, I'm sure that it's wonderful…"

She lowers the forks slightly, furrowing her brow. "So, what's the problem?"

I step away from the counter, my fingers immediately raking through my hair. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never felt this way before. It's all too much… the dinner, the foot massage, her clothes falling on me, their scent permanently embedded in my brain, the dancing, Glenn Gould, and now _sex in a pan_. I feel myself losing control, and it's the most terrifying and exhilarating feeling I've ever had. How is it possible that I can feel such intense conflicting emotions simultaneously?

For the first time in my life, I wish I had studied psychology. I'm sure there is a term for what I'm experiencing; some sort of empirical study on emotions that would help for me to rationalize this.

"Edward?" Her voice only serves to intensify the foreign feelings coursing through me. She looks up at me, a worried expression on her face while she bites her bottom lip. "Are you alright?" I nod. "Did you want to try it?" I nod again, and her beautiful smile breaks across her face.

She stretches up to a cupboard beside the sink, her sweater riding up, my control hanging by a thread as I watch a sliver of her skin reveal itself.

I divert my eyes to the ceiling in an effort to calm down while the sound of plates rattling around fills the kitchen. "There," she says, sounding pleased with herself.

I lower my eyes to her as she hands me a plate covered with a large piece of the dessert. "Thank you." She leans against the counter, taking a bite of the dessert from her plate. "May I ask you something?"

"Sure," she says, chewing slowly while she stares at me.

"If the plates are so hard for you to get, why don't you put them on a lower shelf?"

She looks at the cupboard and then back to me. "I don't know. They've just always been up there."

"Maybe you need to change that," I suggest, eagerly taking another bite. The dessert is absolutely amazing.

"Are you saying that change is a good thing?"

I nod, spearing another piece of dessert. "In this instance, yes."

"But not in all instances?" she questions.

"Well… that would depend, I suppose."

"On?"

"A lot of things," I answer.

"Like what?" She licks the fork. My erection stirs. It seems to be a pattern.

"If the change means things become more logical, or in this case, easier for you, then it's a good thing," I explain.

"So, you like to take the easy way out?" she challenges, waving her fork at me.

"No… that's not what I meant." I sigh in frustration and take a bite, practically moaning as the dessert melts in my mouth. "This is like heaven," I rave, eagerly taking another bite.

"See? I told you that you wouldn't want to miss it," she says, her tongue darting over her bottom lip.

I swallow, staring back at her. "No. I wouldn't."

She smiles and leans across the counter, her fingers brushing the corner of my mouth.

"You have some chocolate…" I feel two fingers graze against my skin as it burns under her touch, and then, she slowly she inserts them into her mouth, sucking off the excess chocolate. "Better?"

She lifts an eyebrow to me as I let out a shaky breath. "You can't…" I shut my eyes, not even knowing how to explain myself. "You can't do things like that," I mumble nervously.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know how to process it. You're looking at me like… like…"

"Like what?"

"As if you like me," I say, my voice barely audible.

"I do like you."

I shake my head. I don't understand her at all. "Why? Of all the people there are to like, why is it that you like me?"

"I told you. You're warm," she says, smiling up at me as if that is supposed to explain everything.

"That's an irrational answer. I am not warm. I wear three layers of clothing, I am more comfortable with numbers than people, and I go to bed before most people even start their evenings. Those are not things that endear a person to another as warm. Trust me... people don't want to spend anymore time with me than they absolutely have to."

She cuts into the dessert in the pan with her fork. "Well, maybe you've just been hanging out with the wrong people," she taunts. Yes… she's taunting me. Every subtle movement, every brief touch, designed to test me, I think.

"Isabella..."

She takes a bit of the dessert, her lips lingering around the fork. "Do you like me?"

"More than I should."

"Do you want to kiss me?" she asks, once again making me struggle for my voice. No one has ever asked me that before.

"I... it's not that simple," I stammer.

"It's a yes or no answer."

"Not to me, it isn't."

She leans over the counter, inching closer to me. "Yes or no?" she asks.

"Yes," I breathe. "More than I've ever wanted to do anything in my entire life."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah. That's very good," she says, squeezing in between the counter and me. She's close… close enough to smell, to want, to touch.

My breathing accelerates while I struggle to keep my emotions in check. "I'm leaving in eight days." Yes. Just the facts. The facts will help. They always do.

"So?"

"I'm not the kind of person who goes around kissing women who they are never going to see again. Kissing is something extremely personal and intimate, and I would never just kiss someone because I get the urge to," I try to explain, but honestly, I'm having a hard time believing it myself.

She lifts an eyebrow. "You get urges?"

"More than I should." She really has no idea.

"You've been saying that quite a bit tonight," she says.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be forward or offend you, I just..." I clench my eyes shut. I'm making an utter fool out of myself.

She laces her fingers with mine, squeezing gently. "When you're ready, and only when you're ready, I would really like to kiss you, too," she says quietly.

I'm sure I didn't hear that properly. Women like Isabella do not want to kiss men like me. "That doesn't make any sense. You're... you're..." I wave my arm up and down in front of her, unable to even articulate how she makes me feel. "And I'm just..."

"Amazing," she finishes firmly.

I chuckle at her description. "Amazingly ridiculous, perhaps."

"No. Just amazing." I feel myself flush at her words while she leans back on the counter, taking another bite of the dessert. "This really is good. I think I like the _Skor_ bars on it. What do you think?" she asks.

"Well, I haven't tried your other version, but this is fantastic," I admit.

"Yeah... it is."

Thankfully, she moves back around to the other side of the counter. I eat, or should I say, devour the remaining dessert, trying to commit the flavours to memory. I'm certain I'll never taste anything this good again.

All too soon, my serving of dessert is finished, and I place my dish in the sink, turning on the tap to pre-wash the plate.

"What are you doing?" she asks, joining me at the sink.

"I was going to wash up the plates."

"It can wait," she says, her eyes growing wide as she looks out the window.

"It can?"

"Yeah, it can. Come on!" I turn off the water as she pulls on my arm, rushing out of the kitchen to the front door. "You have to see this."

I'm not sure how much more I can handle at this point, but I follow along, anyway, as she is clearly on a mission. She whips open the door, pulling me out onto the deck, the cool, night air immediately chilling me.

She tugs me to the corner of the deck, practically jumping up and down with excitement. I snicker at her enthusiasm as she tilts her head up into the night sky. "What are you…?" My voice trails, the chill of the late evening completely forgotten as I take in one of the most amazing sights I've ever seen.

Glowing, dancing curtains of light ripple and sway in the blackened, moonless sky. Muted violet, blending into vibrant green fold and unfold then suddenly disappear, only to reform in a new shape moments later. The tall pine trees that span the forest are highlighted in a celestial glow, a smattering of stars seem to dance between the colour as I watch in awe. The Northern Lights… truly unbelievable.

"It's like it's alive," I marvel under my breath.

"I know." She leans into me, her hand tucking in under my arm. "You got lucky being here now. Any later in April, and you probably wouldn't see them," she explains.

"I've never seen anything like this."

I feel her eyes on me as I watch the colour float and dance between the trees. "They're actually electrically charged particles from the Sun that react to the earth's magnetic field." My eyes widen at her description, and she turns back to the sky, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I know it's boring."

"No. It's fascinating. How do you know all that?"

"I've seen a lot of Northern Lights growing up, and Dad would always try to explain it to me. Mom and I just thought they were pretty. We used to come out and watch them, usually with Jake and Leah," she explains quietly. "The tribes in the area have a few different stories about them. Some call it the Dance of the Spirits. Others say they're torches, welcoming new souls into the afterlife. Sorry, I'm rambling."

I feel her tuck further into my side, my entire body humming and alive, and for the next few minutes, I'm not the awkward, unsure of myself, nervous fool who never says the right thing. No words are needed as we lean against the rail of the deck and just enjoy nature in its most amazing form.

I look down at her as she rests her head against my arm, and all I want is to stay like this. Just her and me, and the natural wonder of the Northern Lights. All too soon for my liking, the lights fade, and we are left with a moonless, star-filled sky. "Thank you for bringing me out here. That was..." My voice trails. I don't even know how to explain what I've just experienced.

"Sublime?" she offers.

I smile at her. "Yes. Sublime. I'd like to see them again, sometime."

"You'll have to come back, then."

I stare down at her, overwhelmed at the thought of coming back, at the fact that she seems to want me to, at the realization that I only have eight days left... well, technically, closer to seven, given how late it is. It must be after midnight, which brings me hurling back to reality.

"I should probably let you go. I've taken up enough of your night," I say, moving to her door.

"You didn't take up my night. I had a really good time."

"So did I," I admit. She smiles, leaning against the door, every movement tempting me further.

I stuff my hands into the front pocket of my pants, shifting nervously. "Until tomorrow?" she asks, wrapping her arms around herself. Yes, its cold, and she's tired. I need to go.

I nod, watching as she slowly shuts the door. I stand outside of it, just looking at the wood. It's an old door that has been weathered by too many harsh Alaskan winters. Finally, I hear the sliding of the lock, and satisfied that she is safely in for the night, I make my way back to my cabin.

It's difficult for me to rationalize the emotions that rage through me. They are foreign and intense. I want to spend time with her, as exhausting as that seems to be for me. Even though it's completely irrational, I want to hear more about her past and what she wants for her future. I am starting to feel as though these next seven days are going to fly by, and I don't like that feeling.

I climb the stairs up to my room, shivering slightly from the cool air that floats to me from the forest. The temperature has dropped quite dramatically. "Dude!"

I jump at the sound of Emmett's voice. "Emmett!" I yell. "You scared me half to death. What are you doing up here in the dark?"

"I came to get you to see the lights, bro," he explains, getting up from the chair on the deck.

My heart races while he snickers at me. "Thank you, but I saw them."

"You did, huh?"

"Yes. With Isabella."

He nudges me in the arm. "Hmm. That sounds like a good night to me," he says suggestively.

"It was. One of the best nights."

"You like her," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

"I shall order your prize for figuring out the obvious tomorrow."

"Well, tell me about it! What did you guys do?" he asks, completely ignoring my attempt at sarcasm.

"We had dinner, listened to classical music, and watched the sky."

"Did you kiss her?"

"Emmett! You know I'm not about to answer that." I shake my head, pulling the key to the cabin out of the pocket on my trousers.

"But you want to, right? I mean, she's totally into you," he says excitedly.

I roll my eyes at him. "No, she's not. She's just being nice."

"You don't see her offering to make dinner and watch the stars with anyone else, do you?"

"Well, no, but..."

"But nothing." He hits me on the back, creating a bruise no doubt. "Just go with it," he says, starting down the stairs.

"That's your advice?"

"Sometimes, it's better if you don't think too much about things," he says, jumping off the bottom step and onto the ground.

"You've mastered that," I call to him, smirking and listening to him laugh while I unlock the door.

"See you tomorrow, bro," he calls to me, disappearing into the night.

I shut and lock the door, feeling completely exhausted, and quite honestly, a little out of sorts. I haven't watched _Jeopardy_ since I got here. I've only logged onto email once, and I can't remember ever going this long without reading _The_ _Post. _It's all a little unnerving.

I remove my tie and shirt, hanging them both up in the closet, away from my clean clothes. I remove my slacks, knowing I will need to press them before I wear them again. I hang them up in the closet, for now, and move to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and take a multi-vitamin, swallowing it back with a gulp of water.

I leave my glasses on the counter in the bathroom, and somehow, I manage to crawl into bed, thankful to be on my way to a restful sleep.

_BTN_

12:41-the fuzzy time that reads on the bear clock beside the bed while I rub my eyes and try to focus.

Six. The number of times I've heard a gentle but persistent knock on my door as I sit up in bed and try to figure out if I'm dreaming. It has to be Emmett, trying to get me to join him and Jasper on some drunken escapade. He knows what my answer is going to be, so I'm not sure why he's bothering.

One. Lock on my door that I'm fumbling to get open. It finally releases, the knock getting louder, and my patience getting thinner. "Emmett, I'm coming!" I whip the door open, my eyes falling on Isabella as she stares up at me. "Isabella…what… is something wrong?" Maybe I _am_ dreaming.

"You forgot your jacket," she says timidly, holding it out to me. "I knew you'd be cold in the morning, and so… well, here." She blinks up at me, her beautiful face illuminated by the glow of the small lantern above the door. The wind swirls a strand of her hair across her face, and I'm speechless, standing with the door open in nothing but my boxers and my rumpled t-shirt. The wind blows harder, a glaring reminder of that fact.

"My jacket?" I ask like a fool. Yes… articulate as always_._ I'm wishing now this _was_ a dream. I'm back to not being able to form a proper sentence.

"Yeah. You forgot it. It's my fault, I mean, I did just kind of shove it into the closet," she says, laughing.

I lift it from her hands, overwhelmed by her gesture. Yet another thing in the growing list of qualities that I admire about her. She goes out of her way to help people... to help me. It's not something I'm used to.

She shifts nervously, still staring up at me. "Thank you. You didn't need to do that."

"Okay, well, I should let you get back to bed. I mean… you were sleeping," she says, her eyes lingering on my t-shirt. I'm sure I look like a mess.

My fingers automatically go into my hair as I lean against the door. I'm still not sure if I'm actually awake, which is probably why I say, "Would you like to come in?"

Chapter End Notes:

Hmmm… A sleepy Edward answering the door at 12:41, all rumpled and disheveled?

Thoughts?

Twitter: CarLemon

Sex in a Pan: Trust me and Numberward. It's awesome. I have the recipe and am willing to share.

The Northern Lights. Simply magnificent: www(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/xx267/CarLemon/By%20The%


	10. Chapter 10

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. November 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her new story, These Days. XO BB_

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO_

_Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. As always, let me know what you think._

_So, a knock at the door at 12:41? Let's see where that takes us. Come, join me._

_**Chapter 10**_

_**Bella**_

_What are you doing? He's probably asleep, and even if he isn't, this is a bad idea, on multiple levels!_

The problem is, even though I know bringing Edward his jacket at almost one o'clock in the morning is a bad idea, I can't stop myself. I can't stop thinking about him. I want to see him again. I want him to kiss me. I want for everything I'm feeling to be real, for once. I think I deserve that. Everyone deserves that, including Edward.

I get his hesitation, really I do. Even if he wasn't just here for a vacation, Edward isn't the kind of person who jumps into anything, unlike yours truly. I'm probably going to scare the hell out of him. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe Edward needs a jolt to the system, you know, spice things up.

As I fight with myself on whether to keep knocking or just head on back to an extremely empty house, I hear the jiggling of the lock. My heart races faster. This is such a bad idea. He's going to be pissed off for being woken up over something as mundane as a jacket.

"Emmett, I'm coming!" His voice sounds harsh… not at all like the unsure of himself Edward who was in my kitchen an hour ago. The door whips open and everything in my body electrifies.

A sleepy Edward, not quite awake, running his hands through his hair and looking disheveled… correction, looking hot… really fucking hot. A grey t-shirt and boxers. Holy fuck, look at those legs. Lean and strong… not muscular mind you, just strong. I'm staring, drooling, and probably looking like an absolute idiot.

"Isabella…what… is something wrong?" he asks. Right, of course he would think something is wrong.

"You forgot your jacket." Fuck, could I be any more pathetic? "I knew you'd be cold in the morning, and so… well, here." Yes… yes I could be more pathetic. That sore excuse for a sentence proves it.

The wind howls through the trees as I hold the jacket out to him. "My jacket?" he asks, because why on earth would any normal person wake up someone else to bring them a stupid jacket? _Way to go, Bella._

"Yeah. You forgot it. It's my fault. I mean, I did just kind of shove it into the closet." I laugh at the visual of him standing in my entryway, covered in my clothes. I'll never look at that closet the same way again.

He takes the jacket from me, looking confused. "Thank you. You didn't need to do that."

"Okay, well, I should let you get back to bed. I mean… you were sleeping." Sleeping, in that big bed, all by yourself with a chest that needs to be slept on. I mean, look at that. Someone is going to be very happy one day, lying on that chest.

"Would you like to come in?" I swallow… loudly. _Did I just hear that right?_ "I mean, you shouldn't walk back to your cabin all by yourself," he amends.

I lean against the doorframe. "I've been walking by myself for a long time."

"So you keep saying. It's not safe," he says matter-of-factly.

"It is in Cooper Landing." _Wait, why am I arguing with him? _

He nods, shifting at the door, and so with my heart in my throat, I breeze by him and into the cabin before either one of us can change our minds. He looks out into the blackened night before shutting the door and locking it. The sound of the click is music to my ears. He's locking us in, and I feel like I'm eighteen again.

He moves to the closet, hanging up his jacket carefully, allowing me to get a good look at his back, and his ass in those boxers. I don't think he has any idea what that body could be doing for him, and what's more, even if he did know, I don't think he would care.

He shuts the doors on the closet, lingering before turning back to me. "I'm not… I don't do things like this," he says, his eyes staying fixed on the floor.

"Things like what?"

"Invite women into my room. That's not me, Isabella." My heart aches again for him. I have no idea what has happened to make this amazing man feel like this.

"I can go. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I don't want you to go," he whispers, lifting his eyes from the floor. "I want you to stay. I've never wanted anything so much in my life."

My heart is in my throat. "Then, I'll stay. We can just talk," I manage.

"I don't want to talk," he says, moving around the edge of the bed, stopping in front of me. Why am I so nervous?

"You don't?"

"I want to sleep," he says simply. "Will you stay?"

His eyes search mine, and I simply nod. Its better I don't talk, right now. He moves behind me, his hands wrapping around the arms on my jacket, and I shake out of it. He drapes the jacket carefully over the wooden chair at the desk and then slowly walks back to the bed. "Is there… do you have a side you prefer?" he asks softly.

Do I have a side I prefer? The one that you're on. "Not really. Do you?" I squeak out.

"The right. Always the right," he mumbles, squinting as he pulls back the covers on the left side of the bed.

He sits down woodenly on the right side with his back to me, his hands raking through his hair. I crawl across the bed to him, running my hand down his arm. "I can go, Edward. I don't want you to feel—"

He places his hand over mine, stopping my lame protest, letting out a contented sigh. "I want to feel. I want you to stay, as irrational and highly dangerous as that sounds."

_Irrational and highly dangerous_. Yeah, those words describe me pretty well, actually. I lay down on my side, facing him, watching the stress work its way through his back, until finally, he lies down. He's rigid, flat on his back, kind of like when we dried out after the hot spring. I'm not even sure he's breathing.

He pulls the sheet up to his neck, covering me in the process, shutting his eyes. He exhales loudly, and then I feel his fingers lightly trail down beside me, his hand opening tentatively.

My heart pounds harder while I search for his hand blindly under the covers. When I finally touch the skin on his hand, he trembles slightly. I lace my fingers with his and squeeze gently. "Edward?"

"Yes?"

"Good night."

"Good night, Isabella."

He never moves from his spot. It's almost as if he's fighting to stay in it. I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest under the sheet until, eventually, the worry lines in his forehead fade and his mouth drops open.

As his breathing deepens, I faintly smell the lingering scent of toothpaste and the familiar fragrance of whatever cologne he uses. It's barely noticeable, but spending as much time as I have with him over the last couple of days, I think I'd recognize it anywhere. It's a warm and intoxicating cedar scent with a hint of citrus. I wonder if I'll get the chance to find out what it is.

I hover the fingers on my free hand over his face and resist the temptation to trace his perfect lips, his strong jaw, the outline of his chest. I know that to most people, this would probably seem extremely lame, but to Edward, I know what this means. I know this is a massive step for him, and why he's chosen to take it now, with me, I don't think I'll ever understand. The only thing I can do is enjoy it for what it is. An incredible man opening himself up, pushing the boundaries of what he's comfortable with.

I grip his hand tighter and let the night take me.

_BTN_

I always enjoy waking up to the morning Alaskan sun, streaming in through my bedroom window. However, today when I wake up, there is no sun. There is just Edward, tangled up in the sheets, his leg draped lazily over mine, his head on my pillow, and his lips so dangerously close.

This would be so easy… to just kiss him, but I don't think he's ready for that, and plus, I like to torture myself. The wait will make it that much more intense when, or should I say _if _we get to that point.

He moans and rolls onto his back, his arm flailing up over his head, his t-shirt riding up just enough to drive me completely insane. No, he isn't ripped with a six pack or anything; he's just… just-

"I must be still dreaming." His sleepy voice ends my blatant gawking, and I tear my eyes from the teasing sliver of skin above his boxers.

"You're not dreaming."

"I have to be," he mumbles, his eyes fluttering open and meeting mine as he turns his head. "You're still here."

I smile back at him. "Yeah. Is that okay?"

He simply nods, his eyes darting to my lips as he wets his. "I like waking up to you."

I'm suddenly hotter, way hotter than I should be. "I like waking up to you, too," I say.

He turns towards me slightly, his fingers slowly inching to my face. He brushes a strand of my hair from my cheek, my breathing hitching as he gently pulls his hand away. "I should get up."

"Yeah." I can barely hear my voice. "I need to check on… stuff… right," I stammer. Fuck, I'm a rocket scientist. He's going to think I'm an idiot.

He smiles and sits up beside me, peeking down at me. "I'm glad that you stayed," he says quietly.

I sit up, twisting my fingers together nervously. "Me, too."

His smile widens as he runs his hands through his hair repeatedly. "You look beautiful in the morning… well, not just the morning, all the time… I mean, just ignore me," he rambles, huffing in frustration.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Hey." He turns to me, his expression worried. "You're beautiful… in the morning, all the time, too."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Isabella…"

I slide my hand from his shoulder up to his cheek, and he takes a sharp breath in. "You are," I say firmly. He leans into my hand briefly, just enough for me to feel the warmth of his skin, and the faint stubble that I'm sure he'll shave off before he goes anywhere.

He lets out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this," he says, almost sadly.

"I think you're doing just fine." He shakes his head again, looking unsure of himself, and I think he's probably had all he can handle at this point.

I get up from the bed, and he vaults up, moving to the chair that holds my jacket. He removes it, holding it open to me. I turn, facing away from him, and he gently lifts the jacket up my arms, onto my shoulders, his hands lingering there. "Isabella?"

"Yeah?"

"I will kiss you." My entire body coils with those four little words. "Soon."

I swallow the lump in my throat, turning to him. "Okay." He opens the door, the cool morning air hitting us abruptly, and I tighten the jacket around my neck. "I'll see you later?" I ask hopefully, staring up at him in all his rumpled morning glory.

He gazes down at me, his expression less worried. "Yes."

_BTN_

"Hey, Bells? You got a hot date for the wedding yet?" Jake asks as he swipes one of the apples from the counter in the kitchen at the restaurant. I'm currently trying to make a version of my mom's famous apple crumble for the dinner crowd tonight, and Jake is lingering, hoping to be put on taste-testing duty.

"Why do I need a date?" I scowl at him as he takes a bite of the apple.

"Um, hello? Everybody has a date. Even your dad is taking Sue."

I stop cutting and stare back at him. "Dad is taking Sue to the wedding? Why didn't I know this?"

"Come on, Bells. He and Sue have been…" His voice trails, and he waggles his eyebrows at me.

I hit him in the chest. "Gross. Jake, that's my Dad."

"Do I sense a tone of frustration there? When's the last time you got laid, Bells?"

"I'm seriously not going to have this conversation with you."

"Come on! This is me," he presses, leaning against the counter, chomping away on the apple.

"It's been a while," I tell him. There's no point in trying to hide it. He'll just annoy me until he gets the truth out of me. It's easier this way, albeit embarrassing as hell.

"Careful, there. That apple never did anything to you," he says, eyeing me as I cut up apples with way more force than I need to.

"What's your point, anyway?"

"I just want to see you happy. I know this guy from Sterling, and—"

I lift the knife to him in warning. "No way. The last time you knew a guy, I ended up walking home in the rain by myself."

"The clocks ticking, Bells. The wedding is only three weeks away," he taunts.

"I know that. I'm going to be busy enough, anyway, without having to deal with a date."

He laughs at me. "You make dating sound like torture."

"It usually is."

"You just need to find the right guy."

He picks up another apple, and I swipe it out of his hand. "Don't you have a plane to fly, or something?"

_BTN_

_She's my cherry pie  
Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise_

Yeah, there really isn't anything like cranking some metal in the kitchen and singing at the top of my lungs. With Tyler calling in sick, I'm left to prep for dinner by myself while I wait for Leah and the rest of the staff to arrive. Not that I would usually mind, but today, I'm distracted… more than usual, which is saying something.

I've chopped way more vegetables than we are ever going to need for one night. I think Edward would approve… it's kind of like I'm planning ahead. I smirk to myself while I start prepping the appetizers.

I've missed him today. He's buried himself in my office, only lifting his head from his computer when I brought him in some lunch; homemade cream of broccoli soup and a Rueben sandwich with soda water. He turned down the Coke I put in front of him, saying it would make him jumpy. There's no way I could get through the day without caffeine.

I'm lost in my own little metal nirvana, dancing to the blaring guitar riff and cutting up garlic when I catch movement at the doorway to the kitchen out of the corner of my eye. I make the mistake of taking my eyes off the cutting board, my heart bursting into overdrive as Edward steps tentatively into the kitchen, his eyes widening at the sheer chaos.

I smile up at him and feel the knife slip, grazing my index finger. "Ow! Shit!" I drop the knife to the cutting board, turning my finger over to survey the damage while the blood trickles around my finger.

Stupid Ginzu knives that Tyler just had to have because of that infomercial he saw. "You can cut a hockey stick and then a tomato right after," he had explained to me. Like there would ever be a time when you would need to do that. I do have to admit, however, they are sharp.

Edward grips the metal prep table as he sways beside me. I put my finger into my mouth, sucking a bit of the blood off and hoping that it will stop. I look back up at Edward and… _oh no_. He looks pale and pasty. He shuts his eyes, his breathing coming way too fast. I put my hand on his shoulder as his knees buckle and he leans forward. "Edward? Are you okay?"

It all happens pretty quickly from there as it becomes obvious that he's definitely not okay. His body slumps forward, all of the usual rigidness and perfect posture disappearing as he slips slowly down the side of the table. The resounding thud of his lean body hitting floor echoes through the kitchen. "Shit!" I kneel down, lifting his head, resting it in my hands. At least he didn't hit his head. If you're going to faint, landing on your side first is certainly the way to do it.

"Edward?" His hair is soft, sticking in a million directions around my fingers, and even though I know I shouldn't, I run my hand through it. _Fuck that feels good._ Thick, silky, and just perfect.

_Bella! Pull yourself together! The man just passed out in your kitchen._

God, I'm an idiot. I gently set his head on the floor and race to the sink, filling a measuring cup with water. I run my finger under the spray, breathing a sigh of relief that the cut is not serious. The bleeding has already pretty much stopped, but I rip off a piece of paper towel from the holder, wrapping it around my finger, just in case.

I grab a hand full of garlic and sit back down beside him, resting his head in my lap. "Edward?" I run the fingers on my uncut hand across his forehead, down his cheek, removing his glasses that are already slipping from his face.

I loosen his tie from around his neck, stopping myself before undoing his vest. Yeah, that would be going a bit far, I think. I wave the garlic under his nose, and it scrunches, his eyes fluttering open. "Wha… How?" he stammers, blinking up at me.

"You fainted, I think." I reach up, grabbing the measuring cup of water from the prep table. "Here, take a drink."

"From a measuring cup?" he asks, looking up at me questioningly.

I smirk, shaking my head at him. "I didn't exactly have time to pull out the crystal." I tip his head forward, raising the measuring cup to his lips. "Take a sip." He hesitates, but then angles his head back as I tilt the measuring cup. He swallows back most of it, his eyes shutting. "So, fainting at the sight of blood, huh?" He lets out a groan, resting his head back in my lap. "Not even your own."

"It's the reason I'm not a doctor," he starts, his eyes clenching slightly. "My father, I think he would have liked for me to follow in his footsteps. The first time I witnessed a bloody nose from Emmett ended that dream swiftly."

"I'm sure he's proud of you," I say, pulling my fingers through his hair.

He hums, his eyes opening. "I know he is. I'm not so sure he would be proud of me at this exact moment, however."

"It's not a big deal. People faint all the time." He bends forward slightly, trying to sit up, but his head ends up quickly back in my lap. "Just give it a minute," I say quietly. Or ten. I could sit here all night.

He's quiet for a few minutes as we stay on the floor of the kitchen with _Warrant _still blasting in the background. It's calming, actually. I quickly check the cut under the paper towel, thankful that the bleeding has stopped. I stuff the towel into the pocket of my jeans, hoping he doesn't notice it.

"What is this that we're hearing?" he asks, looking up at me.

"Warrant," I say as he looks at me questioningly. "Oh, come on! Edward! You haven't heard of them?"

"No, and for future reference, there should be a warrant issued for whoever allowed it to be released to the public." He shuts his eyes, and I stifle a laugh. "I can't imagine what you must think of me," he mumbles, the colour starting to return to his cheeks.

"I don't think anything." I hand him his glasses, and he smiles at me sheepishly as he puts them back on.

"Fainting isn't exactly one of my better traits." He grimaces, sitting up slowly.

"Nobody's perfect, Edward. Look at me for God's sake. I'm a cluster-fuck at the best of times."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Don't say that. You are not a… That's a horrible way to describe yourself," he chastises, standing up hesitantly. He leans against the prep table while I get up, setting the garlic and the measuring cup down.

He brushes his hands down his chest, pulling on the bottom of his vest, smoothing it out. "I must look like a mess," he mumbles.

I stare up at him, slowly flattening my hands up his chest to his tie. His eyes widen as he watches while I tighten the tie back in place around his neck. "You look perfect… better than anyone who has ever fainted in my kitchen."

He lifts his eyebrows, my hands lifting away from his tie. "You've had people faint in your kitchen before?"

"All the time," I say, smirking at him and returning my attention back to the disaster on the table. _What the hell was I doing before he came in here?_

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"What are you thanking me for? Here…" I lift a wedge of baked brie to his lips. "Try this."

He looks at me skeptically, but then opens his mouth, taking a bite. His eyes slide shut, a quiet groan escaping as he chews. "What is on there? It's amazing."

"Tomato and basil relish with roasted garlic. My mom's—"

"Altered recipe?" he offers.

"Yeah. I even wrote down what I changed… somewhere." My eyes drift to the table as I search for the ripped piece of paper. "Ah! Here… see?" I lift it out from under one of the cutting boards, waving it in front of him.

His eyes flicker to the stained sheet of paper, his expression amused. "Very good. You're learning."

I put my scribbled notes back down on the table and set to task on finishing the appetizers. "So, making headway?" I ask.

"Headway?" He narrows his eyes in the direction of the CD player while he makes his way to it. "May I?" I nod, and he turns it down so we can barely hear it.

I begin prepping the red peppers for roasting. I'll have to work on his taste in music. _What am I thinking? He's leaving in like a week._ Does it really matter? I already know the answer to that. I know it matters… it matters a lot, probably more than it should. I push that thought to the back of mind and try to focus. "Yeah, on those boxes in my office?"

"Yes. I'm through those, now."

"And? How bad is it?" I ask, surprised that he's already through them all.

"Well, from what I've seen, you're overpaying your suppliers but actually, it's not nearly as grave as I assumed." I smirk to myself on how delicately he just explained the six years of disaster that I've let pile up in my office closet.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't assume things."

"You're right. You would think that I would have learned that by now," he mumbles. There's more to that sentence, I can tell. "Still, there are some things that we should discuss, processes you can put in place that will save you money. Oh, and your taxes for last year have yet to be filed," he says calmly.

"Did I not do that? I thought I did that." I scowl, looking up to the ceiling as if it holds the answer. I could have sworn I filed those.

"It looks like you started. The forms are partially filled out, but you must have gotten distracted." There's a surprise… me, getting distracted. He seems amused when I look up at him. "Perhaps tomorrow… if you're not too busy, we could… maybe…" He shakes his head, shifting anxiously, amusement replaced by nervousness.

Part of me wants to just interrupt him and finish the thought for him. It's heartbreaking to see him struggle with something that should be so easy… for most people, it would be easy. I'm starting to realize Edward is not most people. I know that he is in desperate need of self confidence, and me interrupting him and finishing his sentences is not going to do anything to help that. Besides, I'd be assuming and we've just established that's not something either one of us should be doing.

So, I keep cutting up the red peppers, internally chanting for him to ask me while he runs his fingers through his hair, clearly one of his many nervous habits. "Maybe tomorrow, if you're not busy, we could work on your tax return," he says quietly.

I glance up at him as he waits, looking fearful of my answer. Does he seriously have no idea? "Wouldn't you rather do something else?" I ask.

"Something else?" he questions, adjusting his glasses.

"Yeah, like see something other than the four walls of my office."

"I like your office. It's... warm, and it's you."

He really doesn't have any idea. Such a simple, innocent sentence that triggers a reaction that is anything but innocent. "I can show you something else that's warm," I offer.

His eyes grow wide. "The hot spring?" he asks tentatively, his voice inching higher.

"No. Not the hot spring." I smile up at him, not giving anything else away.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"No. I think I'll surprise you." I shove the pan of peppers into the oven to roast.

"I'm not usually a fan of surprises," he says without missing a beat.

"You'll like it. Trust me."

He relaxes slightly as he takes in my words. "Okay." He shakes his head slightly. "I should probably check on Emmett and Jasper. I'm sure they're back."

"Are you guys going to be here for dinner?"

"Of course. Will you be able to join us?" he asks, looking hopeful.

"No. Tyler isn't here today." He scowls slightly. "I'll be in the kitchen for most of the night."

"I could help," he blurts out. "I mean, if you need it."

My heart warms at his offer. The man is selfless. "You're supposed to be on vacation, enjoying yourself."

"I _am_ enjoying myself."

I smile, slowly shaking my head at him. "How about I meet you after dinner?" I suggest.

His smile widens. "I would like that… very much."

I move to him, handing him another wedge of brie. "This will tide you over until tonight."

He takes it from me, his fingers brushing mine, his gaze unwavering. "It will do… until tonight." My heart hammers at the promise of those words as he turns and disappears out of the kitchen, leaving me speechless.

Chapter end notes:

Hmmm… thoughts?

Oh, and can you spot the pattern of the Bella POV chapters? Numberward would be proud if you can.

Twitter: CarLemon

Ginzu Knives- Yes they do exist. My husband bought them from the infomercial. Sharp little buggers.

Warrant-_Cherry Pie_-The song, much like many 80's hair band songs is about as subtle as a flying brick._ Lyrics by , J. Cage, S. Chamberlain, J. Dixon, J. Lane, 1989_


	11. Chapter 11

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. December 2010.

_Thanks as always, to the incredible __xrxdanixrx. Check out her wonderful new story: These Days. XO BB _

_A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO_

_Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. As always, let me know what you think. Come join me and see what Edward is up to._

Chapter 11

_**Edward**_

"And then, I fainted." Alice takes a quick gasp in and starts rubbing my back as I continue to regale my friends with my embarrassing afternoon in Isabella's kitchen. Normally, I would say nothing about what happened; what I do in my spare time hardly qualifies as interesting, but they have been relentless, and I know they won't leave me alone until I provide at least some minimal information.

"People faint all the time," she says in a soothing voice.

"That's what Isabella said." I cringe, thinking about what a fool I made of myself.

"What did she do after you fainted, man?" Emmett asks as he leans back in the deck chair, resting his shoes on the railing of the balcony.

"She sat with me on the floor until I was able to stand up."

"She likes you," Rosalie says.

I shake my head. "She's just being nice."

"I'm going to have to side with Rose on this one, Edward. She likes you," Jasper says, fishing his harmonica out of the pocket of his shirt.

I shake my head, wanting this conversation to end. I've had enough embarrassment for one day. "Tell me about your day. How was zip lining? Did you see a bear?" I ask.

"No, but we did see a bunch of moose. Edward, you should have come. It was awesome!" Emmett raves.

"I'm pretty sure zip lining is not something I should be doing."

"It's totally safe," Rosalie says. "And the guide is really good. Come on, you're not just going to sit around in her office for the rest of the time we're here, are you?"

"Well, no, actually, tomorrow, I was planning on helping her with her taxes and getting us a vehicle."

"Don't go all crazy, now," Jasper teases, before warming up with a few bars on his harmonica.

"I know you all mean well, really, and I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm just not the kind of person that does those things."

"Those things? Dude, you've been to a hot spring. I think you're exactly the kind of person who does _those things_. Just think about coming with us tomorrow. You're missing all the fun," Emmett says, looking at me hopefully.

I don't have the heart to tell him that I am having fun… zip lining not required.

_BTN_

Three. The number of salmon dishes on the menu.

Twelve. The number of times I've strained my head in the direction of the kitchen, hoping to get a glimpse of Isabella. She must be run off her feet being short staffed tonight. That thought causes an involuntary smile as I wonder if, perhaps, I will get the chance to give her another foot massage. I try not to dwell on the memory of how her sock clad feet felt in my hands… tiny, warm, and I have to admit strangely erotic. Emmett always would rave about the massages he used to receive on the varsity soccer team, and I wonder if Isabella gets as much enjoyment out of mine.

One glass of house wine, which I have been, as Jasper says, "nursing" for the last forty-five minutes.

I've taken Alice's advice and decided against a vest again tonight. It feels strange, and I'm colder than I usually am, but she says I look hot. Again, those are her words, not mine, and I have no idea what she's referring to. She also tried to talk me into wearing my contacts, but after looking at spreadsheets all day long, my eyes are already tired, and I don't think putting contacts in them is the best idea.

The restaurant is full to capacity this evening, buzzing with tourists. Emmett finally rejoins us after spending an inordinate amount of time conversing with a table of young men at the opposite side of the restaurant. "These guys went right into bush," he says, plunking down beside Rosalie.

"And that's different from where we were today, how?" Alice asks skeptically.

"Like, they hiked deep into the woods. No map, no compass, just some tracker guy who knows the area," he explains.

"That sounds ill advised," I say, cutting into the apple crisp. It really is wonderful. I will have to ask Isabella if she used her mother's recipe. I smirk to myself, wondering if she wrote down any relevant changes.

"That sounds fucking awesome!" Emmett practically yells.

"Yeah, going off into the woods with some stranger and no map. Pure genius," Rosalie says, hitting him in the chest.

"I'm going to find him. They said he was still around. Maybe he'll take us to find a bear," Emmett continues excitedly.

"You saw a bear the first day we were here," I remind him.

"Yeah, but that was in a plane. I want to see one close up. Come on, babe. What do you think?" He looks at Rosalie hopefully.

"I think you've officially lost your mind," Rosalie says, draining back her wine.

"Babe, come on. In the woods, just you, me and nature," he says suggestively.

"It does sound kind of fun," Jasper says. Alice just shrugs her shoulders and continues to devour her dessert.

"Need I remind you that we're planning on spending a few days at Mount McKinley? Where we will be deep in the forest?" I ask him.

"Yeah, in a cabin. This is rustic, back to nature kind of stuff," Emmett urges.

"Look outside, Emmett. You're surrounded by nature," I say, annoyed that he seems to think this is even remotely a good idea. "And what do you even know about this _tracker guy,_ as you call him?"

"These guys liked him," he says, waving his fork in the direction of the table he was just at.

"That's wonderful, but hardly qualifies as due diligence on entrusting your life in a stranger's hands," I reply.

"We went zip lining today, like fifty feet up in the air. What due diligence did you do on that?" he challenges.

I put my fork down, narrowing my eyes at him. "A lot. I researched every single zip lining organization within a one hundred mile radius of this town. I made reference phone calls to multiple people who had been on excursions with each of these establishments. I inquired at the better business bureau to see if there were any complaints lodged against them, and then, I researched how long each of them had been in business, who they were run by, and their knowledge of the area. I didn't just go up to the first table of strangers I saw-who by the way, are on their way to being drunk- and get a high five from them to decide which company to use."

"Well shit. I didn't know that," he says sheepishly.

"Please just try to get another opinion on this tracker before you make any decisions. I'm sure if he's as good as your friends over there says he is, then Charlie or Isabella must have heard of him. If they haven't, perhaps they can suggest someone else who they do know," I advise.

He nods at me, and I can actually see the precise moment that the light bulb goes off in his head. "That's a good idea, bro."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. Honestly, sometimes I think we aren't even related. "I have been known to have them every once in a while," I mumble.

Alice snickers beside me, nudging me in the shoulder. "Oh! There's Bella," she says.

My eyes lift from my dessert, my heart beating faster as I see her laughing at one of the tables. She has a white apron overtop of a black t-shirt and jeans, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She looks completely relaxed, even after what I'm sure has been an extremely hectic evening in the kitchen.

It's like I'm mesmerized as I watch her, my eyes taking in every laugh, every movement. I certainly never experienced anything like this with Jessica, and I am starting realize that particular relationship was severely lacking in a number of areas.

She continues to check on each of the tables, her eyes finding mine intermittently, until she finally stops at ours. I'm up and out of my seat quickly, hoping she will join us. "Hey, guys. How was everything?" she asks.

"Totally awesome!" Emmett compliments. "Seriously the best apple crumble thing I've ever had."

She laughs. "You liked that, huh?"

"It was really good," Alice adds. "You should sit down and join us."

Isabella looks up at me. "I wish I could. I need to get things figured out in the kitchen. But I'll see you guys later, okay?" she asks, looking… disappointed, maybe. My eyes dart to my wine goblet, which is still half full from the one and only glass that Emmett poured me at the start of the meal. No, it's not the alcohol talking. We've been sitting here for over an hour, and even with my low tolerance, a few sips of wine over the span of a meal are hardly going to get me intoxicated.

I feel my skin flush as I wonder if Jasper was perhaps correct… maybe she does like me. Is that even possible? I stare down at her, swallowing loudly while she holds my gaze.

"We should be at the bar around eleven or so," Jasper says, coming to my rescue as I seem unable to speak, my mind reeling with the possibility that Isabella could even be remotely interested in someone like me.

"Okay. I'll see you, then," she says, squeezing my arm and then disappearing back into the kitchen.

"See? She likes you," Jasper says cockily, draping his arm over Alice's chair, while I try desperately not to read too much into what he is saying.

I shake my head and sit back down, resolved to try to keep my thoughts grounded in reality. Women like Isabella are not interested in men like me.

_BTN_

I think I've traveled back in time to circa 1986. The band, and I use that term very loosely, is literally trying to kill me. I think the bassist is either tone deaf or drunk, based on his inability to remain in sync, and the lead singer has a warbled voice reminiscent of someone with laryngitis. At least the drummer can hold a beat, most of the time.

Over the last fifty-seven minutes, I have been subjected to the most horrific versions of songs you wish you could forget that will now be stuck in my head for the next several days, I'm sure. _Kyrie,_ _Addicted to Love_, and God help me _R.O.C.K. in the USA_ which was barely tolerable when John Mellencamp first sang it over two decades ago.

Unbelievably, the packed crowd in the bar sings along with most of the choruses. I suppose that's a good thing if it means I hear less of the lead singer, whose name, he tells the crowd enthusiastically, is Sam. No last name, just Sam. Kind of like Ghandi or Prince, he explains. For once, I wish I actually did drink alcohol. It would numb the pain of having to endure this nightmare.

Emmett has spent the last four dreadful songs locked in deep conversation with a rough looking man at the bar. To say that his appearance is untidy is an understatement. He is wearing a red and black flannel checkered coat that is sporting several rips. His hair is pulled back into a greasy ponytail, his jeans soiled with dirt, and his hiking boots appear to have been put through their paces. He has also downed five shots of whatever Charlie is happily dolling out at the bar, and as a result, his voice has gotten progressively louder.

Emmett finally returns to the table, looking excited while he tries to carry a handful of drinks. I get up, taking two of them from him so that he doesn't drop them all over the table. A tray would have been a better idea, not that he would ever think of it. "What took you so long?" Jasper asks, taking a long sip of the dark liquid in his glass.

"I was talking to James. He's that guide who took those guys I was talking to at dinner into the woods," Emmett explains, sinking back into his chair.

"And what is your assessment of him?" I ask, passing Alice's umbrella laden drink to her spot at the table. I take a quick scan of the make shift dance area, and see Rosalie and Alice still grinding away, much to the delight of every male in the bar, including this James, who seems content to stare at both of them while he continues to pound back drinks.

Both Emmett and Jasper seem oblivious to the fact that James and every other man in the bar are fixated on Alice and Rosalie, while they dance with Leah to a crucifying version of _What You Need_. I really hope Sam has a day job.

"He knows what he's doing, that's for sure. He went into some pretty intense details on the places we could go to try to see some bears. You would have been impressed," Emmett says, lifting his glass to me.

"Will you please speak with Charlie or Isabella before you decide to do anything rash?"

He rolls his eyes at me. "Yes, Dad."

"Thank you. I'm just concerned for your well being, Emmett. I'm not trying to be difficult, regardless of what you might think," I say gently. I really don't want to sound like I'm nagging, but who would take off into the wilds of Alaska without at least checking some references?

"I know that." He slides a glass of the mystery liquid across the table to me. "Drink up."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Should I ask what this is?"

"Nope. Just drink," he instructs, smiling at me.

I scrunch my nose at the intense smell emanating from the glass. Whatever this is, it's strong, and therefore, not something I should be drinking. Emmett's close scrutiny of me is brought to an end as he quickly rises from his seat. "Hey, Bella!" He waves his arms around while I stand up and focus on the door. As if she can't see him in here.

I stand up, her smile widening as she waves back and makes her way through the bar to our table. My heart hammers as she gets closer. She has her hair down and out of the ponytail it was in earlier, and she is dressed casually in a pair of loose fitting jeans and a black zip up. Once again, I fear I've overdressed for the evening.

"Hey, guys. Sorry it took so long. Clean up in the kitchen without Tyler is a pain in the ass," she says, setting her hand on my chair.

"You should have told me. I would have helped you," I say, hoping at least someone stayed behind to give her a hand.

She shakes her head at me. "It's okay. You're on vacation, remember?" she asks.

I nod, pulling out the chair beside me. "Will you join us?"

"Yeah, just let me check on Dad..." Her voice trails as her eyes fall to the bar, her smiling fading quickly. "Shit," she mumbles under her breath. "Um, just give me a minute."

I watch as she stalks to the bar, moving behind it. She gives Charlie a hug while James turns his attention from staring at the dance floor to leering at her.

I sit back down, unable to adequately describe the feelings that his blatant gawking of her are stirring up. Anger, jealousy, apprehension, it's a heady mix, and one that immediately makes me feel uneasy.

Of course, Isabella is a beautiful woman, and men are going to notice her, but the way he watches her from his perch at the end of the bar is unnerving. They are clearly exchanging some choice words as I see her furrow her brow and shake her head at him while he leans closer than I would like, due to the blaring guitar riff that the band is playing.

Charlie is otherwise engaged, tending to patrons at the opposite end of the bar, and thus doesn't see James, extending a hand and running it up Isabella's arm. She recoils it quickly, shooting him an unimpressed look. That was clearly an action not requested or desired by her, and suddenly, I'm up and out of my seat.

"Eddie, man! How's it hangin'?" Jacob's voice breaks me from actually moving to the bar to confront James' boorish behaviour. He slaps me on the back, sending me forward slightly, and then steps in front of the table, effectively blocking my view of the bar.

"I'm well, Jacob. How are you?" I ask, straining to see around his massive frame. He must work out several hours a day to stay in this kind of shape.

"Good, good. Just checking out the band. Sam's great, isn't he?" he asks, bobbing his head to the erratic beat.

Great is not the word I would use to describe Sam's lack of vocal ability, and the term causes me to focus back on Jacob. "You think he's great?" I question seriously. Perhaps there is something wrong with my hearing.

"Yeah. He's going to sing at the wedding. Hey, what are you drinking?" he asks, swiping the glass in front of me and taking a sip. "Whoa, Eddie! I never pictured you a straight up Jack drinker."

"I'm not. Emmett was kind enough to bring me one." I scowl at the fact that he seems to think its fine to just take someone's drink right out from under them. Not that I was going to drink this, but that's beside the point.

"Want to join us?" Emmett asks. Fantastic, now, I'm going to have to deal with more obnoxious behaviour.

"Sure, sure," Jacob says, turning a chair around to face the dance floor. He slips into it, stretching his legs out in front of him. "They can sure move, can't they?" He hits me in the arm, lifting his eyebrows.

I smile politely, sitting back down and looking towards the bar, again. I scan the length of it, trying to find Isabella, my heart rate picking up when I don't see her. I search the crowd, thinking perhaps she is checking on the guests, which she seems to enjoy doing. It's a lovely gesture and something else to add to the growing list of things that I find fascinating about her.

Jacob starts rattling on to Emmett and Jasper about his upcoming bachelor party; a trip to a strip club in Anchorage, surprise, surprise, as I turn to look for Isabella in amongst the tables behind us.

My worry increases as a complete inspection of the room does not give me even a glimpse of her. My eyes move back to the bar and the extremely empty stool at the end where James used to be sitting. An unwelcome wave of nausea moves through me.

I recognize this feeling. It's the exact way I would feel just before some bully would attempt to steal my glasses or make snide comments to me in the hall on the rare occasions that Emmett or Jasper were not with me.

"Something's wrong, Emmett," I say without further hesitation.

"What's up?" he asks.

"Isabella isn't at the bar."

He turns towards the crowded bar, leaning up to get a good look. "So?"

"She was right there," I continue.

Jacob pushes against my arm, waggling his eyebrows. "You got the hots for Bells, huh?"

I furrow my brow further, annoyed at Jacob's comment. "I'm going to ignore that question, and her name is Isabella," I say, rising from the table and moving to the bar.

"Dude!" I can hear Emmett calling me, but my mind is singularly focused on finding her as I continue to the bar. I may be overreacting, but something about the way James was touching her does not sit well with me.

Charlie greets me with a smile when I reach the stool that James was sitting on. "Hey, Edward. How are you doing tonight? Bella tells me you've been helping her out quite a bit."

"Yes. I've just been itemizing some of the correspondence she's been, um… storing for the past few years," I reply.

He leans against the bar, chuckling at me. "That's a very diplomatic way of saying she's the most disorganized person in this town."

I feel myself flush. "No, sir. That's not what I—"

Charlie slaps me on the back, laughing louder. "It's okay. We both know it's the truth, hell, even she knows it. There's no harm in admitting your weaknesses." I nod at him. "What's your poison tonight?" he asks.

"Um… I'm actually not thirsty, but thank you. I was looking for Isabella. Have you seen her?"

"She might be back to the office. You can go on back and check, if you like," he offers.

"Thank you. I think I will." He smiles at me before turning his attention to one of the servers bringing him another drink order. I waste no further time, opening the door and proceeding down the dimly lit corridor.

I hear the band switch out from their horrific _INXS_ cover to some other dreadful melody that I don't recognize as the door closes behind me. The sound fades while I move down the hall. I can see her office at the end, the door slightly ajar, the light spilling out into the hallway, and I stop halfway down, my heart hammering.

_What on earth am I doing?_ Isabella is certainly entitled to be in her own office, and James is probably just gone for the evening. Perhaps I need a good night's sleep. It's close to twelve-fifteen, and I'm obviously not thinking clearly. If she sees me in the hallway, she's going to think I'm some sort of stalker.

I shake my head and turn, starting to make my way back to the bar and ultimately to my cabin where I clearly need to be. A muffled laugh, decidedly male, stops me in my tracks. I turn back slowly, moving in front of her door, silently asking myself if I should be doing this. Am I actually going to eavesdrop on a conversation? There are more reasons than I care to count right now on why this is a bad idea.

"You want to play hard to get. Is that it?" the male voice asks, and my entire body freezes.

"No. That's not it. You're drunk, and I told you, I'm not interested, James." Isabella's voice carries an angry tone; one I haven't heard before.

"That's not what you were saying the last time. Remember, when I had you bent over this desk… right here, actually," James says, his tone icy, his speech slightly slurred.

My heart races faster, my brain trying to process what he's saying. Isabella could not have had a relationship like that with this man. _What does it matter? This is none of your business!_

"That was a long time ago," Isabella says as my heart sinks. I shut my eyes, knowing I need to leave. I know I shouldn't be here, listening to what is clearly an extremely personal conversation, but I'm rooted to my spot in front of the door.

"Come on, Izzy." I cringe at the nickname, the nausea returning. "You'll be screaming my name when I'm done with you."

Anger spikes as I hear rushed movement behind the door. "Ow! No! James, stop it!" Isabella's panicked voice triggers something foreign and quite honestly terrifying. And in this instant, twenty-eight years of being bullied, laughed at, picked on, whispered about, and ridiculed, come crashing down on me.

Logic leaves me, and I'm suddenly gripping the handle of the door, forcefully pushing it open. My eyes fall to James, one hand wrapped around Isabella's wrist, the other snaking around her waist while she struggles against him, her back pressed into the desk.

His head whips up at the sound of the door hitting the wall. He narrows his eyes at me, a smug smile crossing his face as I take a step into the office.

I return his glare, the best way I can, knowing it is nowhere near as menacing as his. He cocks his head slowly to the side, perhaps in amusement, perhaps in disbelief. Isabella takes an audible gasp in as he drops her arm, squaring his shoulders to me.

With my heart hammering nearly out of my chest, I take another step into the room, and unbelievably, the words come out; loud, crisp and with surprising authority. "I believe she said no."

Chapter end notes:

Oh dear.

What has our Numberward gotten himself into?

Thoughts?

Twitter: CarLemon

Come on, you know these will be stuck in your head for days:

_Kyrie-Mister Mister, Lyrics by__ J. Lang, 1986_

_Addicted to Love-Robert Palmer, Lyrics by Robert Palmer, 1986_

_R.O.C.K in the USA-John Mellencamp, Lyrics by John Mellencamp, 1985_

_What You Need-INXS, Lyrics by Andrew Farriss and Michael Hutchence, 1985_


	12. Chapter 12

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. January 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her wonderful new story: These Days. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. As always, let me know what you think. Well, let's see what our Edward will do now.

_Edward_

_Chapter 12_

"Edward." My name falls from Isabella's lips as a whisper while my eyes stay locked to James' steel, icy blue ones.

I feel like I'm going to pass out as we stare at each other, and I'm actually thankful that I didn't turn around and just leave as I originally planned. James is clearly drunk, and I shudder to think about what may have happened if I had just walked away… what might still happen.

"Who the fuck is this?" James slurs, narrowing his eyes further.

With those simple words, all the years of hiding how it feels to being taunted and intimidated boil to the surface, and I unleash on him. "You're all the same," I say, my voice shockingly firm. "It starts out in the playground where you probably threw sand in some six year old child's face. It progresses to high school where you tried to stuff someone in a locker and then broke their glasses when they wouldn't do your algebra homework. And now, you're forcing yourself on a woman who has clearly rejected your advances. You… are nothing but a bully."

My heart races, and I feel the blood drain from my face as he steps towards me, swaying slightly in the process. "You just made a big mistake," he says, poking me in the chest.

"James, you need to go," Isabella urges, trying to pull on his arm, but he yanks it from her and fists the front of my shirt. I shut my eyes, knowing what's coming. At least, perhaps, this will give Isabella time to get out of the room. That's really all I care about.

"Edward, is everything..." Emmett's voice registers from the doorway, and my eyes fly open as I feel him move beside me. "James, what the hell? Get your hands off my brother, man," he growls, taking a protective stance beside me.

James looks between Emmett and me, releasing his grip. "I was just trying to have a little fun… with Izzy, here," he stammers, unable to even stand upright.

"Her name is Isabella," I say, my voice wavering, my eyes locked to his.

"I don't need this shit," James hisses, his eyes darting to Emmett, knowing there is no way he can take him on, at least not when he's this intoxicated. Actually, I'm not sure he would be any more successful if he was sober.

A silent stand off begins between them as I see the tell tale signs of Emmett's protective mode kick in. As much as I may complain about his lack of etiquette and his questionable taste in clothing, I know that he would lay down his life for me without hesitation. He's the bravest person I know and I am in awe of him.

I also know that I need to get James away from Isabella. She seems frozen in place, her eyes wide and panicked as they dart between the three of us. "Emmett, can you see that James finds his way out of here?" Somehow, I manage to find my voice.

"I'm on it, man. Come on, you need to sober up," Emmett growls. With shaking legs, I step to the side as James stumbles out the door, mumbling under his breath with Emmett following behind him.

Isabella is in front of me quickly, her eyes glassed over while my breathing starts to come in gasps. "Edward? Shit… Come here, sit down." I feel her arm around my waist as I lean into her, and she leads me to the chair behind the desk. "Breathe," she whispers, her voice soothing, and I try to focus on it… something to keep me from passing out. I sit down in the creaky chair, bending forward and feeling like I'm going to vomit as she grips my hand, clutching it tightly.

She squats beside me, still holding onto my hand. It's a lifeline, and I squeeze it back, afraid to let go. I lift my head, staring back at her, her expression beyond worried. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" I ask.

"I'm okay. My wrist is a little sore, but I'll be fine," she says quietly.

"Let me see." I gently lift her arm with trembling hands, pushing up the sleeve on her hoodie, scowling at the light red mark from where he clearly grabbed her too tightly. "We need to get some ice on this," I mutter, feeling light headed as the adrenaline starts to make its way out of my system.

"I don't care about my arm. What were you thinking, Edward?" she asks, her hand cupping my cheek lightly.

"I could ask you the same question." She shuts her eyes, shaking her head. "Do… do you have a relationship with that man?"

She huffs, opening her eyes and dropping her hand from my face. "No. What I had with James doesn't qualify as a relationship." I furrow my brow. I'm fairly certain I don't want to hear any more. "It was just sex... that's it." Her words hang in the air while I try to process them.

"I see." I run my shaking fingers through my hair. I need to lie down. "You deserve more than _just sex_, Isabella. You do realize that?"

She stands up, letting out a shaky breath. "I'm going to get you some water. I'll be right back," she says softly.

I stay slumped over, watching as she moves quickly out of the office. I lift a hand to my face, removing my glasses as I try to wrap my head around what I've just done. I've never confronted anyone before, and I'm not really sure how to process what I'm feeling.

"Are you okay, Edward?" Emmett's voice breaks me from my self imposed melt down.

I raise my head as he moves beside me. "I'm fine, Emmett. Thank you for asking... for being here. I'm fairly certain I'd be lying in a pool of my own blood right now if you hadn't showed up."

He slaps my back. "I doubt that. That took balls, man."

"Or sheer stupidity."

He chuckles. "You're a Cullen. We stand up for what's important to us. I'm proud of you." I smile weakly at him. "It's been a big day for you," he says, smirking.

"And I didn't even have to go zip lining."

He laughs, loud and boisterous, cutting through the tension in the air. "Where's James?" I ask, putting my glasses back on.

His scowl returns quickly at the mention of James' name. "Jake is driving him to some town close by and finding him a place to sleep it off."

"Is that wise?"

"You did see the size of Jake, right? He's almost as big as I am, and James is pretty much passed out, anyway. He probably won't even remember what happened."

"How convenient." This is going to be etched in _my_ mind for an extremely long time.

"What happened, bro? I've never seen you like this."

"I don't know." I rest my forehead in my hands. "I came back here to find her, and I was actually going to leave, but then I heard the vile, repulsive things he was saying, and I… I just snapped. That's never happened to me before. I've never lost control. I didn't even care if he hurt me. I just wanted to get her out of here," I try to explain.

"You did the right thing," he says, patting me on the back.

"I got your water…" Isabella's voice trails from the doorway as I turn my head to her. "I can come back."

"Naw, it's okay. I'm going check on Rose, anyway," Emmett says, hitting my back harder than he needs to before moving to Isabella. "Are you sure you're okay?" She nods at him, and he hugs her. "Catch ya in a while, bro." He sounds completely unfazed as he makes his way out of the office and down the hallway.

Isabella smiles at me, moving to the desk and handing me the large glass of water. "Thank you." I drink back the entire contents without stopping.

"I'm pretty sure I should be saying that," she says, watching me closely. "I've never seen anything like that. That was just… I don't even know."

"Foolish?"

She shakes her head. "No. It was amazing. Thank you. I didn't expect him to follow me. I told him I wasn't interested. I just came back here to clear my head, hoping he'd be gone when I came out, and well, you know the rest."

"Well, hopefully he won't be back," I say, although something tells me we wouldn't be that lucky.

"He was pretty drunk. I doubt he's going to even remember what happened."

I nod, amazed at the power of alcohol to wash away such an intense experience. I push up from the chair, my legs unsteady. Her arm is around my waist quickly, and even though I'm fairly certain she couldn't stop me from falling, I feel strangely stronger with her arm around me.

"I think I'm going to call it a night," I say, staring down at her as exhaustion starts to sink in.

She nods, her eyes searching mine. "Would you mind walking me home?" she asks quietly.

"I thought you said Cooper Landing was safe?" Her face falls, her arm releasing me, and I instantly regret my words. Clearly, the events of the evening have been too much for me. "I'm sorry. That was extremely rude. Please forgive me, I'm... I'm still recovering from... whatever that was a few minutes ago." She smiles, my heart warming. "Of course I'll walk you home. Do you have a jacket?"

"No."

I shake my head. "How can you be warm in just this?" I ask, waving my hand in front of her zip up, which hardly seems adequate for an evening that is as cool as this one.

She shrugs her shoulders. "I'm used to it. It's a nice night, and besides, I have you to keep me warm."

My breathing catches at her words. "Yes. There is that." She smirks, linking her arm with mine and leaning into me as we leave the office and proceed down the hallway.

_BTN_

Thirty-six. The number of minutes I've had to sit and endure Emmett's version of the events in Isabella's office while Jasper, Alice, and Rosalie stare at me in disbelief. They are more shocked than I am, I think.

Eight. The number of times Isabella's hand has run a circuit up my arm, causing my heart to race and my mind to wander.

Two encores, which were not deserved for Sam and his wayward band of marginally talented musicians... if you want to call them that.

One extremely awkward hug from Charlie as he thanks me for coming to Isabella's rescue. Those are his words, not mine, and honestly, the whole ordeal is one which I would like to try to put behind me. I've had a lifetime's worth of attention this evening, something I loathe, and I desperately would like to return the place of invisibility that I normally occupy.

Isabella and I walk behind Emmett as he runs towards the row of cabins with Rosalie on his back. Jasper and Alice hold hands, swinging their arms between them while we make our way from the bar into the cool night.

I'm completely exhausted, and I'm not even sure how I'm able to stand upright. Isabella links her arm with mine while Alice inquires as to an excursion to Anchorage. We continue down the stone path, and I remind her that is on the agenda for the day after tomorrow.

"How do you remember all this stuff?" Alice asks.

"I just do."

"Bella, you should come with us. You can be our tour guide," Alice suggests.

I resist the temptation to remind Alice that we don't need a tour guide. I have outlined our entire trip to Anchorage with alternative activities for them to choose from. I am sure they are not going to want to accompany me on a trolley tour and a trip to the Anchorage Museum.

"That sounds like fun," Isabella says, leaning into me.

Who am I to complain?

After bidding good night to the others, we arrive in front of Isabella's house and she unlinks her arm from mine, digging into the front pocket on her jeans and producing a key. "I locked the door before I left," she explains, smirking at me.

I smile at her as she struggles to get the key into the lock. It finally slides in and she pushes the door open, leaning against it, staring up at me. "Come in... please."

I shift on the porch, my fingers raking through my hair. "Isabella, I'm... I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Why not?" she asks quietly.

"You've been through quite an ordeal tonight and I'm sure you would like to take some time by yourself."

"Actually, no. That's the last thing I want."

I take a shaky breath in. "I don't have anything with me, you know, to sleep in."

"Well, last night, you slept in your t-shirt and boxers. I'm assuming you have those on, unless you're going commando?" she asks, the amusement evident in her voice.

"I am most definitely not going commando." She smirks at me, her eyes drifting to my slacks. "I don't have a toothbrush or vitamins."

"I have both of those things. I just bought a new toothbrush the other day. It's pink, and I have those gummy bear vitamins," she says quickly.

"Gummy bear vitamins? Aren't they for children?"

She giggles. "I like how they taste. Listen, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. No pressure, okay? If you don't want to, then-"

"No. I want to, believe me, and it appears that I have run out of reasons why I shouldn't."

"Really?" she asks skeptically.

"Well, actually no, but I don't want to think about it, anymore. I would just like to come in."

_BTN_

"I'm just going to get changed," Isabella says while I shift nervously in her bedroom doorway. How is it possible that I feel simultaneously terrified and ecstatic? That seems to be how I'm feeling frequently since I've been here… since I've met her.

"Changed?" I ask warily.

"Yeah... you know, pajamas?"

_Of course, right._ I take a deep breath while she goes into bathroom adjacent to her room, shutting door. I hear the water turn on as I take in her room. It's a kaleidoscope of colours; vibrant purple walls and mismatched pictures of varying sizes, hanging up. The frames are all different colours and hold pictures of her with Charlie, and a woman, who I'm assuming must be her mother. I can see the resemblance.

There are two frames on the wall opposite her large picture window that catch my eye. I move to them, studying them closely. The first picture shows Isabella, holding up a large fish by the mouth as Charlie stands beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. The next one is a picture of her mother and her, sitting on the ground in front of a camp fire, laughing together.

I stare at them, acutely aware that I have no such pictures in my house. My parent's house is full of pictures, full of life. What am I doing with all of my memories?

My eyes fall to a small picture frame, outlined with daisies that sits on her nightstand. I pick it up, furrowing my brow when I see it is a picture of Leah, Jacob, and Isabella, laughing on the dock in front of his plane. I turn the picture away from the bed to face the window. I would rather not sleep knowing a photo of Jacob was beside me.

"How do you sleep in here? It's so... distracting," I say.

I hear her chuckle from behind the door. "I like it... I like waking up and feeling energized. Who wants to lie in bed all day long, anyway?"

_Me. With you._ The thought comes to me unbidden while I begin to fidget. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. I wander from the pictures to the aging dresser in the corner of her room that is strewn with photos, some in frames, some tucked into the mirror.

There is a black t-shirt peeking out of the bottom draw, and I see bright, pink lace, trailing from one of the top drawers. It is most clearly one of her undergarments, and I feel myself flush... almost the colour of the lace that is tempting me.

"Tell me about your room, at home," she calls to me from behind the door. I turn from the dresser, sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Yes... do not look at the lingerie.

"There's not much to tell. Its beige and empty, I suppose you could say." I rake my fingers through my hair.

"Why?" she asks.

"All I do is sleep there, and I don't like to be distracted."

"And this is distracting?" she asks. I hear the door to the bathroom open and I get up from the bed, turning towards her, my breath catching. She's wearing a grey tank top and grey shorts that are extremely... revealing. Her legs are like ivory alabaster, glowing almost in the subdued light that bounces from the yellow lamp shade.

"Well, mostly _you_are distracting. I'm sure that would be case whether there were purple walls or not," I whisper.

"Don't you like it?" she asks, and I'm not sure if we're talking about the walls anymore.

I wet my lip, taking a shaky breath in. "I do like it. More than I should."

She moves to the bed while I stand, rooted in my spot. "The bathroom is free, if you want to—"

"Of course. Yes, I'll just… right." My brain finally kicks in and I remember how to walk, moving quickly to the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I lean against the door, my breathing accelerated while I try to calm down.

I move to the vanity, taking off my glasses and turning on the cold water. I hold my hands under it and splash some in my face, peering up at the mirror. _What am I doing?_ This is dangerous… highly dangerous, given my growing feelings for Isabella and the short amount of time I have left to spend with her.

I try to ignore that thought as my eyes fall to the vanity and the bright pink toothbrush that she's left out for me. It's still in the package, and although it is not the brand I would normally use, I open it, placing the wrapping into the garbage. She's left out a tube of _Crest_ toothpaste, which I have to squeeze with all of my might to get a dollop out of. While _Crest_ is the brand I use, I've never tried this _Cinnamon Rush_ flavour.

My mouth is practically on fire as I start to brush. This is certainly not your typical _Crest_; it's strange and refreshing. I finish brushing, rinsing my mouth out and cleaning out the sink with a fresh hand towel that she's left on the counter.

I run my fingers through my hair before removing my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. I fold the shirt, setting it on the vanity. I take off my slacks, folding them, as well, and then ball my socks up together, placing them on top of the clothes. It feels unsettling to not hang everything up, but I don't dare ask for a hanger. How would that sound to her?

I find the bottle of _Gummy Vites_ on the counter, chuckling at the picture of the bear on the front, and the caption reading _"Best Tasting!"_ on the label. I open the bottle and select one red and one yellow bear, feeling a bit ridiculous as I chew them up. They are surprisingly good, certainly better than the "horse pills," as Emmett calls them, which I take.

Taking a deep breath, I put my glasses back on and open the door. She's already lying down on her side, her head propped up by her hand, smiling at me. "Did you like the vitamins?"

"They were surprisingly good," I admit, moving to the bed.

She blinks up at me, lifting the purple comforter. "You're going to join me, right?"

Good Lord. This woman is going to be the death of me. "Um… do you… never mind," I stammer, sitting tentatively on the side of the bed, my back away from her.

"Hey." She sits up, her arm trailing to my shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course. It's just been quite an evening for me."

"For me, too," she says. "Oh shit. I know! I'm on the right side, that's your side. Here." She pulls the covers all the way back, moving over and settling down onto the left side of the bed.

"You remembered I like the right side?" I ask, staring down at her in disbelief.

"Yeah." I remove my glasses, setting them on the nightstand and stretch out beside her. She inches her way closer to me, her head resting against my shoulder. "Is this okay?" she asks quietly.

"It's better than okay," I manage, shutting my eyes and breathing her in.

I can feel the warmth of her breath against my shoulder. I can hear her breathing; steady and slow. I feel her body relax and melt against mine as I adjust the soft cotton sheets around us.

I can't believe I'm here… in her room, with her beside me. It's like some dream that I don't want to wake up from.

Maybe that's what this trip is for me; a dream, a fantasy, because in my reality, in my world, women like Isabella do not ask awkward and nervous men like me to stay with them.

It makes no sense whatsoever to me, but then, this whole trip has been that way. From the airplane ride when we first got here, to the hike, from the northern lights to my surreal encounter with James. None of it was in the plan, and I'm starting to realize that maybe the plan wasn't all that I thought it was.

Her breathing slows, and she lets out a quiet sigh. She settles further into my shoulder, and even though I am dangerously out of my element, this feels comforting and real. I close my eyes and let the night take me.

Chapter end notes:

So, a turning point for our Edward as he confronts James and all of his demons from the past.

Thoughts?

Ever try Cinnamon Rush Crest? Give it a go, if you haven't. Numberward would be proud.

Twitter: CarLemon


	13. Chapter 13

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. February, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her wonderful new story, now complete: These Days. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. As always, let me know what you think. Well, let's see what today brings. Come, join me.

_**Edward**_

Chapter 13

1:48. The last time I remember seeing on the clock. Isabella fell asleep quickly. I did not. I listened to her breathing, reveled in the feel of her body next to mine, and fought exhaustion for as long as I possibly could.

Two. The number of times I woke up during the night. Both times, her head was on my chest, her arm flailed across my waist. If I could find a way for me to capture that feeling and keep it with me, I would.

One extremely empty bed. I'm not sure what I expected to wake up to, but waking up without her is… disappointing. I sit up, straining to listen as the muffled sounds of pots clanging and drawers opening and closing drifts up to me.

I smile, reach for my glasses on the nightstand, and put them on. I glance at the clock and bolt out of bed, my heart racing.

It's 9:34. The last time I slept this late was… I've never slept this late.

I move quickly into the bathroom and shut the door. I wonder if Emmett even remembers where they were all supposed to meet the guide for their all terrain vehicle adventure. There's wishful thinking. Emmett rarely remembers anything.

I use the bathroom and wash my hands, my eyes falling to my clothes from last evening, which are still in a pile on the vanity. I really should have thought this through. I'm beyond mortified that Isabella is going to see me in rumpled clothes that I had on last night. I can't exactly ask her for an iron, can I?

I contemplate that as I squeeze a healthy dose of _Cinnamon Rush Crest_ onto my pink toothbrush. It invigorates my mouth as I brush faster than I normally would, hoping that my negligence this morning isn't causing the group to miss out on their ATV adventure.

I rinse my mouth, setting the toothbrush back on the vanity, and then move to my clothes. I take a deep breath and unfold the shirt, holding it up to examine how bad it really is. There are definitely more wrinkles than I would like, but I don't currently have many options. I pull on the shirt, buttoning it up and slip into my slacks.

I stare back into the mirror, raking my fingers through my hair in an attempt to tame it. I look ridiculous. I hold the tie up, wondering if it will improve my appearance. No… there really isn't anything that's going to do that, right now. I take a deep breath and open the door, closing it quickly.

Oh God! I haven't even taken a shower yet. Should I do that? Would she think that was too forward? I stare at my reflection, deciding against it. I'm already dressed- well as dressed as I can be, given the circumstances. Perhaps I can still arrange for Emmett to take a later excursion.

I turn to the door, spotting a bottle of _CK One _on the vanity. I smile, remembering that Rosalie tried to get me to buy a bottle of this once. I squirt a small amount in the air and walk through it, hoping it masks the fact that I haven't taken a shower.

I place the bottle back on the vanity and open the door. Peeking my head out, I scan the room before moving to the bed. I fluff the pillows and start to move the sheets up, pulling them taut.

"What are you doing?" Isabella's voice scares me half to death, and I spin in the direction of her voice, my heart hammering.

She looks beautiful, radiant, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, a faded red t-shirt on, and… What is she carrying? My eyes fall to a large tray with two plates that are brimming with food, and a tiny vase with one of the flowers I brought her when I was here last time. "You scared me," I say, willing my heart to calm, although I'm starting to realize that is virtually impossible in her presence.

"Why are you making the bed?" she asks, an amused look on her face.

"Well, it's what you do when you wake up in the morning."

"It is, huh?"

"Well, um… yes." She smirks, setting the tray down on the bed. "What's all this?" I ask, immediately feeling ridiculous for asking a question with such an obvious answer.

"Its breakfast… you know, what you do when you wake up in the morning," she teases, quirking an eyebrow to me.

"Oh, um…I…" I rub the back of my neck. I really would enjoy sharing breakfast with Isabella, but my worry for Emmett and the rest of the group has me on edge.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"It's just… they have an ATV adventure today ,and I don't know if Emmett remembers where they were supposed to—"

"They're gone," she says.

"What?"

"I saw them at breakfast this morning. You know, when _someone_ was sleeping like a log?" I feel myself flush. "There's no way he wouldn't find the pick up spot. You had a map and everything on that agenda thing."

"He found it?" I ask, more than a little surprised.

"Yeah. He's a big boy, you know. He can take care of himself. Sit and eat."

I look at the enticing tray, hesitating.

"What is it?" she asks gently.

"It's just that… I haven't showered or anything," I mumble.

"And?"

"That doesn't offend you?"

She smiles up at me. "No. Sit down. I made omelets, toast, and there's orange juice," she explains, sitting down beside the tray… in the middle of the bed.

My heart warms at her gesture, at the fact that she's still here, with me in her room, and it appears she doesn't want that to change. "You made me breakfast?"

"No. I made _us _breakfast. We'll need energy for what I have planned." I try not to let my mind wander at her words while I sit down tentatively beside her.

"You don't mind food in your bedroom?"

"No." She crosses her legs on the bed, balancing the plate in her lap. I watch as she takes a healthy forkful of the omelet, her lips wrapping around the fork, her eyes sliding shut as she chews. "Mmmm." Her eyes pop open and she catches me staring at her. "Are you not hungry?" she asks, piling part of the omelet on the toast and then taking a bite.

I set the plate on my lap and dig in, practically moaning as I savour the taste of the first bite.

"You like it?" she asks.

I swallow and nod. "It's amazing. Isabella, you're a wonderful chef."

She waves me off, taking a large gulp of orange juice. "I'm not a chef. I dabble."

"Well, you can dabble with me any time."

She giggles before I have a chance to even think about my bold statement, ending my worry before it really even has a chance to begin. Spending time with Isabella has made me daring. I doubt I would even have thought such a thing before I met her, and now… now, I'm not sure I even recognize myself.

I'm sitting on this amazing woman's bed, having spent the night, in clothes I wore last evening, eating breakfast, and shamelessly flirting… well, flirting for me. The really astonishing thing is that it feels good. It feels right. It feels like this is where I'm supposed to be.

_BTN_

"No we don't," Isabella protests for the fourth time as we stand on the shoreline, disagreeing on whether it's necessary to actually wear the life preservers for the canoe ride that she insists we go on. Guess where my vote is?

"Isabella, what is the point of having the life preservers in the _bottom_ of the canoe if we aren't going to wear them? What happens if we capsize?"

"We're going to capsize? You just got finished telling me you were a good swimmer," she argues, her hip jutting out, my eyes falling to her bare legs that seem to extend for miles in the cut off jean shorts she's wearing, making me momentarily forget what my argument even was.

"I am, but…"

"It's not like there's a thousand speed boats out here. Take a look. It's not even windy today." She gestures to the lake, shaking her head at me. I can't deny that the lake, with the exception of an older couple in a paddle boat at the opposite side, is empty. I take note that they do not have life preservers on, either. "And it will be easier for you to paddle me around without a life preserver on."

"Those are valid points Isabella, but—"

"But nothing! Live on the edge, Edward." She yanks the life vest from my hands and tosses it into the bottom of the canoe. "Trust me."

Without waiting for my response, she moves to the back of the red canoe and starts pushing it into the water. Once it's floating, she stays bent over, holding onto it. "In you go," she says, raising her eyebrows to me.

I tentatively set one foot and then the other into the canoe, holding onto the sides as I awkwardly crouch down, moving to the tiny mesh seat at the front. The canoe dips and sways, and I almost lose my balance, but I manage to sit before I make a complete fool out of myself. Actually, that was fairly impressive, for me. My hiking boots even stayed dry.

I push my glasses up my nose and watch as she smirks at me, pushing the canoe forward forcefully, gripping the sides and jumping in while we float away from the shoreline. "You've done this before," I say.

"Yep." She sinks down into the seat and lifts one of the old, wooden oars from the bottom of the canoe to me. I take it gently from her, my eyes fixated on her body as she turns in her seat so her back is facing me. "Paddle on."

I chuckle at her instruction, adjusting the oar and gingerly placing it into the water. I've never canoed before. I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'd much rather just sit here and enjoy the view… the view of the beautiful woman in front of me who is currently removing her little blue canvas shoes and stretching her legs out over the sides of the canoe.

_Please don't let me tip us._

I pull the oar through the water, as we move away from the shore, repeating the strokes slowly. I don't want to go too fast. I watch as she leans back, shaking her hair and letting it fall down her back in a wondrous cascade of mahogany.

_Stroke._

She sighs, pushing her face up to the sun, her eyes sliding shut as she enjoys its warmth.

_Stroke__._

"Don't you just love the sun?" she asks.

I smirk, my eyes drinking her in. "It is quite enjoyable."

_Stroke__._

It's actually very warm today. The warmest it's been since we arrived. I can feel the heat from the sun through my jeans. Yes, I'm wearing jeans, again. Even _I_ know a vest and tie are inappropriate for a canoe ride.

_Stroke__._

I hope that I don't get a burn. Although Isabella assures me it is unlikely, I still worry. I burn easily, and I hope I get a chance to apply sunscreen at some point during our journey. I have a bottle in my backpack which is currently resting below the life preservers at the bottom of the canoe.

_Stroke__._

"Edward?"

"Hmm."

_Stroke__._

"Um… we're going in circles," she says.

My eyes move from her to the lake, and I see that while we have moved away from the shore, we do in fact seem to be going in a circle.

"Were you switching sides with the oar?" she asks gently, turning her head to me.

"Um… no," I answer, feeling like an idiot.

She smiles and laughs. "You need to switch from side to side, or we aren't going to go anywhere."

Of course! How did I not figure that out? Me, of all people? Normally, I'd be fixated on figuring out the precise way to do this perfectly, not just jumping in and heading off into a foreign body of water without any idea what I'm doing, or where we're going.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"It's okay. We can go in circles all day if you want. But there's some pretty cool stuff down the lake that you might want to see." She turns away from me again while I start to paddle as she has instructed.

_Stroke left side. Stroke right side. _A pattern. Something I can concentrate on, rather than simply staring at her. I focus on trying to keep us straight, slowly becoming used to balancing as the canoe moves through the water.

Soon, we are drifting down the shore at a lazy, leisurely pace. There is hardly a breeze to be felt, the lake like a pane of glass, barely a ripple on the surface with the exception of the loon who seems to be following us, its head and body popping up sporadically a few feet from the canoe.

It is serene and calm, and we are content to sit silently, enjoying the mountains that rise to the sky, and the mass of green forest that occupies the shoreline. The water laps against the sides of the canoe as I continue the stroke pattern.

"Oh!" Isabella jerks forward, sitting up from her lounged position. I rest the oar against the side of the canoe. "There's a bald eagle." She points towards the green pine tress lining the bank of the lake, and I squint my eyes, seeing a distinctive white head pop out and then take off from the top of one of the trees.

I watch as it spreads its wings, soaring over, circling behind us. "You are so lucky to live here," I say.

"Never seen a bald eagle before?" she asks, turning around to face me.

"Well, they're not frequent visitors to the city."

She smiles, stretching her legs out in front of her while I recommence paddling. "Tell me more about Seattle," she says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"You've already heard a lot about it. You asked a lot of questions during our phone calls."

"Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry about that," she says sheepishly.

"Don't be sorry. I enjoyed our conversations. What else would you like to know?"

"Tell me something that you love about it."

"There are a lot of things I love. My family is there. I can get the internet whenever, wherever I want to." She laughs, the sound echoing down the lake. "That's not a very good list, is it?"

"It's a great list, but there must be more than that."

I smile, switching my oar to the left side. "There's this little coffee shop at the corner of my street. It doesn't look like anything much from the outside; just a couple of iron chairs and a few small tables outside underneath a red and white striped awning." She stares back at me, riveted it seems to my description. "They make the best chocolate chip cookies I've ever tasted. They practically melt in your mouth. It's owned by an older couple who have been married since 1961. They have a little brown bag of cookies waiting for me every Friday morning."

"Just on Fridays?" she asks.

"That's the only day I stop there."

"If it's so good, why not go there everyday?"

I shrug. "That's my routine."

She cocks her head to the side. "Sometimes, it's good to break the routine."

"So I'm discovering." I push the paddle through the water harder as we round a small bend in the lake.

"Can you go close to the shore?" she asks, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Of course." My voice sounds sure, but in reality, I'm anything but. I don't know the waters here. What if we hit the bottom?

Still, I can't deny her anything it seems, and so, I angle us towards the shore. She leans forward, inching her way across the bottom of the canoe.

"Isabella, be careful," I warn while the canoe tilts further than I'm comfortable with. She crawls over the seat in the middle of the canoe and sits down. "What are you doing?"

"Breaking the routine," she says, a hint of mischief in her eyes. She grabs the sides of the canoe and starts rocking it, her body swaying deliberately from one side to the other.

"Isabella," I warn, finding it hard to stop my smile. I've never been with anyone who makes me feel this way. She clearly shouldn't be intentionally trying to tip the canoe, and I know I should be trying to stop her, but I just can't bring myself to.

"What?" she asks not so innocently.

"You're going to tip us."

"And that's a bad thing?" she asks, rocking her body side to side with more force. I shake my head at her, dragging the paddle behind the canoe in an effort to steady it. "Sorry. I'll be good." She laughs, turning her head to the shore. "Oh! We're here."

I guide the canoe to the grassy shoreline as she moves to the front and slips her shoes back on. She jumps out, her feet landing in the grass, just out of the water. She holds the front of the canoe, staring at me while I gape at her in disbelief. She's so confident, so sure of herself. Not afraid to just hop out of the canoe and take control. "Are you coming?"

"Right… yes." I place the oar in the bottom of the boat and stand up, trying to step over the middle seat.

"Edward! Don't—!" Unfortunately, her warning comes too late as I lose my balance, the canoe tipping precariously while I try not to fall.

Things move quickly from bad to worse from there. Arms flail, my body lurching forward as I try to steady myself. I stick out my arm, my hand grasping in the air as I try to find the side of the canoe, praying that this mortification comes to an end.

Regrettably, when my hand does come in contact with something, it's not the canoe. The cool waters of Kenai Lake surround me as I tip out of the canoe, splashing unceremoniously in front of her. Even more embarrassing, the water barely covers me. At least if it was deeper, I could sink under and try to forget this whole incident ever happened. But no, I would never be that lucky. Instead, I find my self sitting on the murky bottom of the lake, the water less than waist deep as the canoe floats upside down beside me.

"Are you alright?" she asks, her hitched giggling drifting to me from the shore as I adjust my glasses. At least they didn't fall into lake.

I look up at her cautiously, her eyes finding mine, and then, we both burst out laughing; loud, deep, and full bodied laughter. It feels good to laugh and to just let go.

She doesn't hesitate, wading quickly through the water and stopping in front of me. She holds out her hand to me, and I take it while she tugs on it, helping me to stand.

"I'm fine," I mumble through my laughter, the water dripping from my jeans. "Thank you, but now you're going to be cold." My eyes fall to her soaked shorts as my laughter fades.

"It's alright. We'll dry off, and it's not that cold." She squeezes my hand in reassurance. "You really shouldn't stand up in a canoe," she offers, her smile immediately erasing my embarrassment.

"Thank you for the advice. I'm clearly not meant to be doing things like this."

"Don't say that. Of course you are. Do you want to know how many times I've fallen out of a canoe, or Jacob, even Dad? It happens," she says casually.

At least I'm not the only one. The fact that Jacob has shared this experience actually does make me feel a bit better; although, I'm sure the circumstances were completely different, and he probably was deliberately _trying_ to make a fool out of himself, unlike me.

"Come on. You can help pull the canoe up," she says, her hand slipping out of mine as I watch her move to the canoe.

_BTN_

Three. The number of times it took us to flip the canoe over.

One soaked backpack. At least the cooler she brought with us has a watertight seal and the sandwiches she made have not been ruined by my carelessness.

Twenty-four minutes. The amount of time we've been trekking through the dense forest on the way to the "surprise" she insists on showing me. Even though I complained that we should wait until we were dried off, she is adamant that we not waste any time. And so, here we are, climbing up the dirt covered path, my hiking boots slipping on the rocks and fallen branches as I try to keep up with her.

Once again, she's not using a map or a compass, but she seems to know where she's going. At least this isn't like the hike to the hot spring. That was grueling. This is much more enjoyable, with gentle elevation changes that are easy for me to navigate.

She stops in front of me, setting the cooler down, and puts her finger over her mouth. "Shhh. Listen," she instructs.

I stop beside her, cocking my head to the side and hear the unmistakable sound of rushing water. She grips my hand, pulling me with her down to the end of the path where we emerge into a clearing, the water crashing louder.

I take a sharp breath, my eyes fixated on the water that falls in sheets from a rocky overhang high above us, cascading down through a gap between the rocks as it winds its way down to the lake.

She leans into me, and I look down at her in awe. "This is amazing."

"I know. Come on; we'll sit and eat." She keeps her hand in mine, leading me to a grassy area next to the waterfall. She retrieves the cooler and brings it back, sitting down beside me.

"I wish I had brought my camera," I mumble, watching as the water tumbles over the rocks and bumps.

"It may have gotten wet," she teases.

"I was hoping you would forget about that," I say, shaking my head.

She smiles, holding up a sandwich to me. "Roasted turkey or veggie?"

"Whichever one you don't want." I sit beside her, mindful that my jeans are just starting to dry and are actually becoming uncomfortable. I wish I had brought a change of clothes; although, given the circumstances, I suppose they would be soaked, as well.

"You don't have a preference?" she asks.

"No. I'm sure they are both wonderful."

"You spoil me," she says, handing me one of the sandwiches.

"What does that mean? I don't spoil you. You're the one making me sandwiches and bringing me to places like this. _You're_ the one who is spoiling me."

She laughs, taking a bite of the sandwich. I do the same, enjoying the flavours of the cheddar as they mix with the turkey. She really is a very good chef.

"You're always complimenting me, asking what I want before you make any decisions yourself. I guess I'm just not used to that," she says quietly.

"And what are you used to?" I ask, not sure if I really want to know the answer.

"Guys treating me like shit." My eyes widen at her words. "Most guys are selfish, only thinking about themselves."

"Yes, well, I'm not most _guys._"

She smiles, reaching into the cooler and pulling out a bottle of water. "No. You're not," she says.

"And forgive me for being so bold, but anyone who would treat you like shit as you say, excuse the language, doesn't deserve you, Isabella." She twists the top off the water and passes it to me. "Thank you."

She nods, watching as I take a sip, setting it gingerly on the ground beside me. "I know you're right," she says, watching the waterfall before taking another bite of her sandwich.

"Why would you stay with someone who treated you poorly?"

She sets the sandwich down, staring at me intently. "That's a really good question. I don't know. Maybe I thought they would change, maybe I thought I'd never find anyone better."

"You are an amazing woman, and anyone who treats you otherwise is just…" I shake my head, knowing I've said too much. "This sandwich is delicious. What type of sauce is on here? I don't recognize it." I know I'm rambling.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling at me. "My Mom's secret recipe."

"A modified version?"

"Yep, and guess what?"

"What?"

"I wrote down the changes," she says, lifting her eyebrows.

I chuckle, shaking my head as we sit by the waterfall, surrounded by nature, enjoying just being here together. And to think, I wanted to spend the day doing taxes.

_BTN_

"Bells! You ready to go?" Jacob's voice rips through the silence as we stand in front of Isabella's door.

"Go where?" she asks.

"_Hello?_ My bachelor party… Anchorage?" He vaults over the railing of the porch, landing with a thud.

I stare at them in disbelief. Isabella is going to Jacob's bachelor party? That seems highly unusual, particularly due to the fact that I distinctly remember Jacob mentioning a strip club in his plans.

"Oh God! I almost forgot about that!" she says.

"Some best friend you are," he jokes, nudging her in the arm harder than I think is necessary. "You should come too, Eddie. Emmett and Jasper are bringing the girls. I just invited them."

"Yeah, come, please?" Isabella asks, her big beautiful eyes practically begging me.

I shift uneasily. "I don't know about that. Our trip to Anchorage was planned for the day after tomorrow."

"So? You can spend the night and do everything you were going to do tomorrow," Jacob says.

"I don't… we haven't booked a hotel or anything, and I don't think…"

"Don't think, Eddie. Fate is calling you, again." Jacob claps me on the shoulder. "Come on. It'll be a blast. We can figure out a hotel and shit when we get there."

I look down at Bella, her expression hopeful and quickly making my decision for me. "Well, I suppose that—"

"Awesome!" Jacob yells, rubbing his hands together. "I just have to get the plane ready and we'll be good to go."

My heart hammers at the mere mention of that death trap. "Plane?" I ask warily.

"Yeah. How else are we are all going to get to Anchorage?" he asks, smirking at me as he takes off towards the cabins.

I shut my eyes, feeling like I'm going to pass out. I never wanted to get on that plane again, and now… now, I'm about to take the skies, yet again, embarking on some bachelor party debacle.

I feel Isabella's hand move into mine, and I open my eyes. She stares up at me, her hand running up my arm, my momentary panic eased. Suddenly the plan ride doesn't seem so bad.

Chapter end notes:

Breakfast in a bedroom, a canoe ride, and now a bachelor party in Anchorage? What could possibly happen there?

Let me know your thoughts.

Twitter: CarLemon

Many thanks to those who nominated this story in the Sunflower Awards (stories with less than 1000 reviews). _BTN_ has been nominated for the Sunflower Award and Best Edward. Check out the nominations here: thesunflowerawards (dot) blogspot(dot)com/p/nominations_


	14. Chapter 14

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. February, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her wonderful new story: These Days. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who has graciously agreed to pre-read this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. As always, let me know what you think. Well, let's see what happens on this bachelor party, shall we? Think our Numberward will survive? Come, join me.

_**Edward**_

Chapter 14

Seven. The number of people crammed into Jacob's de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver plane as we hurl towards Anchorage and his wanton bachelor party.

Sixteen minutes. The amount of time we've been airborne as my heart races uncontrollably.

One tiny hand resting firmly in mine. It's the only thing that's remotely calming at the moment. Isabella leans into my side, encouraging me to look out the window. I can't believe I'm on this aircraft-and I use that term loosely- again.

Jake seems intent to want to fly more recklessly than I would like, switching angles frequently and eliciting squeals of delight from Alice and Rosalie.

"Where's everybody else, Jake?" Jasper yells over the deafening sound of the engine as we soar beside the mountains.

"Drove down this morning. Sam and the band were auditioning at one of the bars for a gig," Jacob explains.

A gig? Is he serious? I hope Sam and his marginal band of questionable musicians have some sort of a backup plan.

"It's pretty cool up here, bro, right?" Emmett asks, hitting me on the back while I try not to hyperventilate.

I nod and clench my eyes tighter. We can't be on the ground soon enough.

Mercifully, we land without incident, well, other the fact that I'm rooted to my seat, unable to actually move, the life vest hitched up around my neck as the group exits the plane happily laughing.

Sometimes, I wish I could be more like Emmett and Jasper. There is nothing that seems to faze them. They take everything in stride and are already on to the next adventure while I sit here and try not to spiral into a full blown panic attack.

"Edward?" I hear Isabella's voice through the ringing in my ears. Her hand runs up my arm, and I open my eyes, staring back into hers as my shaking starts to calm.

"You don't have to sit here with me. I'm embarrassed enough as it is," I grumble, beyond mortified that she has to witness me in this state.

She smiles, squeezing my arm. "Lots of people hate flying."

"I don't hate flying. I just don't enjoy this particular plane. It's seems so small and old, and quite frankly, the way Jacob flies borders on irresponsible."

"Jacob is one of the best pilots in Alaska. He's just showing off. He's trying to impress you," she says gently.

I huff and shake my head. "Steering towards mountains doesn't impress me, Isabella." She grimaces at me. I shouldn't have said that. Now, I've offended her best friend. "I'm sorry. That was extremely rude," I apologize.

"Don't apologize. He can be an ass. It's all part of his charm." I nod, watching as she gets up from the seat, moving to the door of the plane. "Come on. We've got a bachelor party to go to." I rise on shaking legs, moving beside her. Her smile widens while she tugs on the bottom of the life vest. "I don't think you'll be needing this," she teases.

I shake my head at how ridiculous I must look. "Right." I try to pull the life vest off, my glasses falling forward in the process. She grabs the bottom of the red, aging fabric and swiftly hoists it from around my neck.

"There." She tosses the vest onto one of the seats, holding her hand out to me. "Let's go see what kind of damage we can do," she says, rolling her eyes.

I push my glasses back up and take her hand willingly, the warmth coursing through me while I let her lead me down the dock and into the blackened streets of Anchorage.

_BTN_

"It'll be fine, Eddie," Jacob says as I ask him about the safety of our bags on the plane. After a lengthy debate on whether to arrange for lodging right away, Emmett determined that the matter best be decided over a round of drinks.

Jacob assures me that our overnight bags will be fine, while we, as he says, "party." I'm skeptical, to say the least. I'm really trying not to be negative, but this whole evening seems ill planned to me.

We aimlessly wander the streets for over twenty minutes before Bella stops in front of _Chilkoot Charlie's,_ or as Jacob says "_Koots,_" pulling me inside. The outside rustic wooden facade is deceptively small, and I feel my eyes widen when I set foot on the dirt floor covered in peanut shells. It's a good thing I don't have an allergy.

According to Jacob, _Koots_ is _the_ place to be for a good time in Anchorage. I find that extremely hard to believe. It's essentially a massive post and beam shack with a matrix of hallways leading to several themed bars, all of which he clearly intends to visit.

I discover quickly that there is no dress code whatsoever; an obvious clue of the type of crowd inside. The clientele seems to be mostly in their twenties or early thirties; many of the women dressed provocatively, the men opening gawking at them, practically salivating like hungry wolves. It's reminiscent of Emmett's fraternity parties during college or the words of Jasper, a proverbial meat market.

Once again, I feel overdressed in my tie, slacks, and dark blue dress shirt. I'm glad I took Rosalie's advice and decided against wearing a blazer. Jasper, Emmett, and Jacob all have jeans and T-shirts on, with Alice and Rosalie in knee length skirts and blouses. Bella is more casually dressed with a pair of black jeans and a short sleeved black sweater that is rather… tight.

The bar is so jammed full of people, I wonder if they are in violation of the fire safety code. Jacob drags us through a dizzying labyrinth of narrow passageways, until we come to a room which contains dangling brassieres and underwear, hanging from the walls and ceiling. Apparently, it is a tradition here, so he tells us, that the women divest themselves of their bras. I am beyond mortified.

Jacob somehow finds us a table while we wait for Sam and his band to join us. How they are going to find us in here is a mystery to me. I'm not sure how we are going to find our way out. I'm also quite sure my ears are never going to be the same. We are assaulted by blaring country music being played by a live band, which is entirely too loud, as we all squeeze around a round, cheap, worn, wooden table.

I feel like I'm suffocating as sweaty bodies continually bump into our chairs with no apologies being made. Isabella doesn't seem to mind in the least, and the point quickly becomes moot as Alice and Rosalie drag her out onto the slanted dance floor.

"So, Eddie, what's your pleasure? This is a fine place to pick up." Jacob has to yell in order for us to hear him.

"I'm not here to _pick up_, as you so eloquently say, Jacob," I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. Who in their right mind would want to _pick up-_ as he so rudely described- any one of these women? Most of them are extremely drunk, finding it hard to stand upright. It's repulsive, actually. There is nothing even remotely attractive about their behaviour.

"I'll go get us a round," Jasper says, eyeing the packed bar that is lined with bumper stickers at the opposite end of the room. "Jager?" Oh dear Lord. I'm going to need all of my facilities about me for this evening, I know it. No Jager shots for me.

I ask him to bring me a soda water while Jacob stares at me in disbelief. "Not drinking, Eddie?"

"No. I can have a pleasant time without getting completely inebriated."

"But it's my bachelor party, dude! You have to drink something," he urges.

And now, I feel bad for not at least joining him in a celebratory drink. I suppose he's right; I could at least have a light beer. "And a _Budweiser Light_, Jasper," I add as Jacob slaps me on the back.

"That's more like it," Jacob says happily. "So, what do you think about Koots?" He leans back in his rickety chair, surveying the dance floor.

Emmett smiles widely, flicking a black lace bra that hangs off the wall behind him. "I love it!" Of course he does. We are polar opposites, as further evidenced by the fact that he seems to know the words of the pina colada song that the lead singer is currently warbling.

"Sing it, Edward!" Emmett yells, standing up on his chair and singing along at the top of his lungs as I shrink down in my seat, hoping to disappear. The rest of the crowd belts out the lyrics along with the band.

_So bring me two pina coladas_

_I want one for each hand_

_Let's set sail with Captain Morgan_

_Oh and never leave dry land_

_Hey __troubles I forgot 'em_

_I buried 'em in the sand_

I shake my head at Emmett, laughing at how ridiculous he is. He just sings louder, the bar erupting in cheers, joining in with the band. I have a feeling its going to be an extremely long night.

_BTN_

Sam and his band have arrived and they've been drinking steadily for the last hour, applying Jacob with shots of whiskey faster than he can consume them. He's only just starting to show the effects of the sheer amount of liquor he has already consumed. If they were to try to get me to drink this much, I would be passed out by the third shot, I'm sure.

I've never understood this right of passage. Why does a man who is about to be married feel the need to get so drunk before his wedding that he won't remember what happened to him? Why is it necessary to go to a debased strip club and leer at gyrating women? That's the next embarrassing event on the agenda, if I can ever get them out of here. What does any of this have to do with getting married?

My annoyance grows as I listen to Isabella and Jacob reminisce in between dances about past experiences. I know without a doubt that I am jealous. I'm jealous that they can laugh about things this way. I'm jealous of the way he touches her, of how open she is with him. I know I have absolutely no logical reason to be, which only serves to fuel my irritation.

"You sure you won't dance with me?" Isabella asks hopefully, the pulsing lights almost hypnotizing me as they bounce off her creamy skin. The more she drinks, the more she seems to want to touch me, which I'm finding it hard to complain about.

"Yes. I'm sure. You go have fun. I'll save your spot here." I pat the torn red fabric on the seat beside me as Rosalie pulls her back to the packed dance floor.

Jasper and Emmett seem oblivious to the fact that every male in the place is leering at Alice and Rosalie. I presume their indifference comes from the sheer abundance of confidence both of them have in their relationships. They've been together a very long time, and I suppose they have gone past jealous tendencies some time ago.

While I watch Jacob stumble his way onto the dance floor and commence bumping and grinding with the three of them, I envy him. He doesn't seem to care that he is making an absolute fool out of himself; in fact, he seems to welcome the attention. I can only imagine how red my face would be if I was in a similar situation. But that is the vast difference between Jacob and me. I would never willingly put myself in that situation.

I shake my head, trying to focus back on the slurring conversation between Emmett and Jasper. "You said the bike rental place was right downtown, right?" Jasper asks, draining his shot glass.

I nod. "Yes. Actually, we should try to find lodging as close to it as possible. I'm sure you're going to want to sleep in tomorrow."

"This is one of the many reasons I love you, man," Jasper says, clinking his glass to my beer bottle.

Emmett drinks back the remnants of his Vodka Red Bull, crunching on the ice. "Hmm, there's an advertisement for some hostel on the back of the menu," he says, fumbling to retrieve the tattered drink list from the centre of the table.

"We are not staying anywhere where the word _hostel_ is included in the name," I practically bark over the music.

"Live a little, bro. It also has_ adventure_ in the name. How bad can it be?"

"I have been pushed to the edge of my comfort zone enough already this evening. I'll find us a proper place to stay that's central for everyone." I slide out from behind the table and ready myself to approach the bar. Hopefully, the bartender will have recommendations for us on a suitable hotel. "Please make sure that Isabella's seat isn't taken while I'm gone."

Emmett salutes me. "Yes, sir."

I laugh and squeeze my way through the pulsating bodies to the bar.

_BTN_

I push my way back through the crowd in a state of shock, gripping a cocktail napkin with the phone number and address of the _Hotel Captain Cook_ in my hand, which the bartender assures me is one of the finer hotels in Anchorage.

"What's up?" Emmett asks, looking concerned as I stop at the table.

"I just…" I look back to the bar, utterly mystified at what just transpired. "They had a pen that was in the shape of…" My voice trails.

"Of what, dude?"

I dart my eyes to my trousers, and he furrows his brow. "A male organ," I whisper.

"What?" he asks while Jacob stumbles back to the table with Sam and Isabella in tow.

"Never mind," I mumble, feeling my face flush.

"Never mind what, Eddie?" Jake slurs, leaning into me as he tries to stand.

"It's nothing," I say quickly.

"He was just starting to tell me about a pen at the bar," Emmett says innocently. Oh God! Why can't he just drop it?

"Oh! Did you get an exploding one, or one shaped like a dick?" Sam asks, draping his arm over Isabella's shoulder.

"Um… the, err, second one you said," I mumble. This couldn't be any more embarrassing.

"The dick? The cock? Come on, Eddie, say it!" Jacob yells. I was wrong; yes it can be more embarrassing.

I shift uncomfortably while Isabella shakes her head at Jacob, hitting him in the chest. "Enough, you drunken idiot. Sit down for a while," she urges, pulling out a chair for him beside Jasper. He sinks down into it while I silently thank Isabella for ending that awkward exchange. "I'm just going to find the bathroom."

"I'll come with you," I offer, not wanting to be the brunt of more embarrassment. I'm also not sure it's entirely safe for her to be wandering around this bar unaccompanied.

She looks at me skeptically, but then reaches for my hand, dragging me through the crowded bar. I follow along, keeping close to her while she weaves her way down one of the many hallways.

She stops in front of a small, unstable door, turning back to me, her hands landing on my chest as the door bumps her from behind. "Sorry, it's crowded in here," she says, smiling apologetically.

"It's alright. Are you okay? That door hit you rather hard," I say, narrowing my eyes at the oblivious woman who wanders off without even apologizing.

Isabella sighs, her hand drifting up around my neck while my heart hammers. "You are too good to me. It's just a door; I'll be fine." I nod at her. "You didn't have to come with me here, you know," she adds, her fingers lightly tracing the hair at the nape of my neck.

I shiver under her touch, trying to remember how to speak. "No, actually, I think I did. It's… dangerous in here."

"Dangerous?" she asks, laughing.

"Yes. That's the word I'm using for it."

"I think you're the one who's dangerous, Edward Cullen," she says darkly.

My eyes widen at her words. "I may be a lot of things, Isabella, but dangerous is not one of them."

"I disagree." Her hand slides down to my chest while I try not to pass out. "You're strong," she says, running her hand up to my tie. "And this tie is…" She bites down on her lower lip before wetting it. "And these glasses… yeah, you're dangerous, for me, anyway." Her hand slides down my tie while my breathing elevates, and then, she turns on her heel, disappearing into the ladies room while I stand gaping at the door.

I'm at a loss for words, which is not unusual when I'm in her presence. But this? It must be the alcohol talking; though, as I think about it now, I believe she has only had three drinks since we arrived. Still, I try to keep things in perspective as I wait beside the door, squirming to get out of the way of the constant stream of people flowing through the hallway.

I don't understand why this bar is so busy. It makes no sense at all to me. I'm sure that there are several less boorish establishments that we could have gone to. I scowl, thinking of our next destination. I can only imagine what this strip club is going to entail. I pray we aren't there for too long.

Isabella emerges a few moments later, smiling up at me. "Thank you for waiting," she says, taking my hand again.

"Of course I waited."

She squeezes my fingers, pulling me down the hallway. "Most people wouldn't," she says over her shoulder to me.

"I'm not most people."

"No. You sure aren't."

_BTN_

We stand outside of the _Great Alaskan Bush Company_; a strip club, which Sam assures me has, and I quote, "the most classy chicks in town." I shudder at his words. There are so many things wrong with this scenario; I'm not even sure where to start to try to explain them.

My only solace is that it's one twenty-five in the morning and they'll have to tire soon. I know I am exhausted and there's not much more of this I can handle.

Thankfully, our lodging has been settled. I called over to the hotel suggested to me by the bartender on the way over, and breathed a sigh of relief when they confirmed that they did have enough rooms for all of us to stay.

I stare up at the saloon like exterior of the strip club, feeling nauseous. "Are you sure you want to go in there, Isabella?" I ask as she tugs me to the door.

"Just for a while. It's not that bad. You'll see," she says, trying to sound convincing.

I roll my eyes at her, adjusting my glasses as the group makes its way into the club. Once inside, Rosalie and Alice link arms with Isabella and take off towards the horseshoe shaped stage in the middle of the large club.

There are several occupied seats around the stage, which currently has two scantily clad women on it, grinding away to bawdy music under the rays of a bright spotlight. I turn away from the stage and move to the bar. I am beyond disgusted already. I've only ever been to one other club such as this previously with Emmett and Jasper back in college I lasted all of about fifteen minutes before I left. I have a feeling I won't fair any longer this time.

"What can I get you, professor?" a young woman in a tight tank top leans over the counter, staring back at me in amusement. Her name is KiKi, according to the badge sewen into her top.

"Pro… Professor?" I ask as Jasper sits on the stool beside me, chuckling.

"Yeah, the tie, the glasses, it's a good look for you," she says, her eyes sweeping down me.

"I'm not… I'm not a professor," I state the obvious.

"Sure you're not. Okay, what'll it be, then?"

I look at Jasper questioningly, and he proceeds to order a round of beers. "See, it's not that bad," he says, nodding to the stage.

I shake my head at him. "It's horrible, Jasper. Seriously, why do you even want to be here?"

"I don't, but it's Jacob's party, man, and if this is what he wants, this is what we'll do," he says, shrugging. I nod, watching as KiKi pours out beers from the tapped keg into large frosted pilsner glasses, and for the first time, I think that I could actually use a drink. "Remember when we went to the Museum of Technology for your birthday back in high school?"

"I was fifteen," I say in defense.

He lifts his eyebrows to me. "Still…"

"You didn't… you didn't want to go?" I ask in shock.

"I wanted to go because that's what you wanted, and you're my best friend. That's what we do for each other. So, let's suck it up, get a couple of laughs, and then, we can hit the hotel with our women," he says.

"Our women?"

"Come on, Edward. I know how you feel about Bella," he says, nudging me in the arm.

I shift nervously. I knew my behaviour was bordering on obvious. "I don't… I'm not…"

"Relax. She likes you. You don't have to be a mind reader to figure that out."

I shake my head, my eyes falling to Isabella as she cheers on the… dancers. I suppose that's what they are. "It's kind of irrelevant, Jasper. We leave in a few days," I say sadly.

"So?"

I turn back to him, trying to ignore Jacob and Sam's wolf like howls. "It wouldn't be a wise idea for me to act on any feelings I may or may not have for her."

He grips my shoulder and leans closer. "You're allowed to have fun."

"I am having fun."

He shakes his head at me. "You know what I mean. Try not to over think this. She likes you, you like her. What more do you need to know?"

I run my fingers through my hair as I try to take in Jasper's words. "I don't do things like that, you know me. I plan, I analyze, I—"

He squeezes my shoulder tighter. "You're sitting in a strip club at one-thirty in the morning in the middle of Anchorage. Is that your new definition of planning?"

"Well, I-"

"Some of the best things that have ever happened to me came from lack of planning. How I met Alice, deciding to become an interior designer…" His voice trails as he glances over at Alice while she laughs with Rosalie and Isabella.

"You didn't plan on becoming an interior designer? But you're so good at it."

He shakes his head. "Not really. It looked easy, and it turns out I'm damn good at matching colours." I stare back at him, floored by his words. "Besides, I never was smart enough to do anything else."

"Don't say that. Of course you're smart."

"Not like you," he says. "You need to give yourself more credit, Edward." My mouth drops open as he fishes out his wallet, handing KiKi his credit card.

_BTN_

Nine. The number of songs I've had to endure as I sit with Jasper in a booth as far away from the stage as we can get. The red velvet on the seat is aging and probably should have been replaced years ago.

Six. The number of times Isabella has caught me looking at her while she sits near the stage, cheering on the dancers. Shockingly, there are actually quite a few female customers in here. I can't for the life of me figure out why they would willingly choose this establishment to spend time in. Clearly, I'm missing something.

One extremely thin blonde, currently making a bee-line for our table while she swings a green feather boa around in circles. There is barely enough fabric to cover her breasts, and her shoes are… oh dear Lord! I feel myself flush and turn away from her. Maybe if I don't make eye contact, she'll just keep going.

_Don't stop… don't stop. _I repeat the words over and over while Jasper shakes his head beside me.

I feel a tickle on my neck and Jasper lifts his eyebrows. "Hello, professor," a low female voice whispers. I look down to see the green boa, winding its way around my neck. My eyes snap to Jasper, silently praying he will send her on her way.

"Hello there, darlin'," he says.

"Care for a private dance?" she asks. She's close enough that I can smell her perfume. It's overpowering, and I immediately fell nauseous.

I stand up from the table and turn to her. "No. We won't be needing a dance." I adjust my glasses, fighting the urge to flee from the table.

"Well, lucky for you, it's already been paid for," she says, wrapping the boa once more around my neck.

"What?" I glare in the direction of Jacob, who is standing up near the stage, waving his arms at me and belting out cat calls. Leave it to Jacob to arrange for something like this. "What is your name?" I ask, turning my attention back to the dancer.

Her eyes widen as she stares back at me in disbelief, as if no one has ever bothered to ask her this question before. She blinks and smirks at me. "It can be anything you want," she says rather seductively. I fight back a shudder while Jasper snickers beside me.

"Miss, I'm sure you're very good at what you do, but I do not require or want a dance," I say solidly.

She scrunches her nose up at me. "You don't want a dance?" she asks in disbelief.

"No." I can't believe I'm in this situation. I can't imagine what Jacob must be thinking trying to arrange something like this. His drunken yelps from across the room answer that question quickly. More proof that alcohol certainly has a negative effect on people.

"But it's already been paid for," she presses.

I remove the boa from my neck and hand it back to her. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll pass."

She stares back at me for a moment, looking almost offended before she whips the boa around her neck and sashays away to another table. I turn back to Jasper. "Can you believe he just did that?" I ask, moving out from behind the table.

"Yeah, I can," he says, chuckling.

I shake my head at him. I'm at a loss for words. "I think I'm going to call it a night."

Jasper slides out from the booth, joining me. "I think that's a good idea."

_BTN_

Four. The number of attempts it took to get Jacob out of the club.

Ten minutes. The amount of time we spent unloading the plane of luggage. Emmett's first attempt to haul everyone's bags out of the plane all at once almost resulted in him tipping into the water, an action which sent us all into fits of laughter.

Eleven. The number of pictures I've taken of the group around the plane with various cameras. I'm not even sure how any of them are going to turn out, given how dark it is. But Jacob wanted to, and I quote, "capture the most awesome bachelor party ever."

Three. The number of cabs we all piled in to get to the hotel. At least Isabella is tucked safely away beside me and seems intent on apologizing continually for Jacob and his attempt to buy me a private dance.

"I had no idea what he was doing. I told you, he's an idiot… especially when he's drunk," she says, her hand lacing with mine as we wind out way to the hotel.

"It's alright. Don't worry about it."

She sighs, resting her head against my shoulder, and I breathe her in. Everything about her is intoxicating, and I find myself scowling at the short cab ride. I should have instructed the driver to take a scenic route.

The cab stops in front of the hotel, and I get out, extending my hand to her. She grips it tightly, rising out of the cab and leaning into me. "Are you okay?" I ask, worrying that she may have had too much to drink.

"I'm better than okay." I furrow my brow at her while Sam scrambles to get out of the cab behind her, bursting out laughing. She runs her fingers over my forehead. "I know what's going on in there. You think I'm drunk, don't you?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No, well, maybe… are you?"

"No," she says firmly, her eyes burning into mine, the mood suddenly shifting between us.

I tear away from her long enough to see Sam, swaying next to the cab. Oh no. He's going to pass out! Emmett and Jasper emerge from the cab behind us, and I motion to Sam.

"I'm on it, bro," Emmett says, marching over to him and helping him into the hotel.

Honestly, this is what I'm talking about. He's going to feel terrible in the morning and will probably have a horrific hangover. Why deliberately put yourself through it?

I pay the cab driver and gather the bags from the trunk of the cab, leading the rest of the group inside. Emmett has wisely set Sam in a waiting chair and is currently at the check-in desk with Rosalie.

"Will Sam be okay?" I ask once we reach the reception desk.

"Yeah, he'll be fine. I'll get him to his room. He can sleep it off. No biggy," Emmett says, handing Rosalie a room key. "I'll be up in a few, babe. Don't fall asleep on me." He waggles his eyebrows at her, and she hits him on the behind as he takes off to assist Sam.

Jacob and the rest of Sam's band wander into the lobby, singing away to some unrecognizable song while Alice continues to take pictures. Jacob is extremely drunk, but happy and seemingly content. I find myself smiling at him and am glad that he has enjoyed his evening, even if it was nothing I would have chosen for myself.

"Checking in, sir?" the man behind the front desk asks while I set Isabella's backpack down beside my luggage.

"Yes. Two rooms, one under Cullen, one under Sw—"

Isabella jerks down on my shirt, squeezing my hand in the process. I look down at her, staring into wide, hopeful eyes. She slowly shakes her head at me, biting down on her bottom lip as realization hits me.

I turn back to the front desk attendant and say in a low, shaky breath, "Just one room."

Chapter end notes:

Hmmm. Just one room, Numberward? *Gasps*

Thoughts?

Twitter: CarLemon

_Chilkoot Charlie's_–Yes, it does exist, and yes, it does have a room filled entirely with bras and underwear, and interesting pens.

www(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/xx267/CarLemon/By%20The%

Great Alaskan Bush Company- Believe it or not, it exists.

Hotel Captain Cook-Also real and wonderful panoramic views to enjoy.

Anchorage: www(dot) photobucket(dot)com/albums/xx267/CarLemon/By%20The%

_Two Pina Coladas__-_ Yeah, I know you were singing it. Lyrics by Shawn Camp, Benita Hill, Sandy Manson, 1998


	15. Chapter 15

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. February, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her wonderful story, now completed: These Days. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend and pre-reader MizzezPattinson who is visiting this weekend! Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. As always, let me know what you think. Well, let's see what the rest of the evening holds. Come, join me.

_**Bella**_

Chapter 15

"Would you like to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning?" Edward asks as Alice pulls Jasper from the elevator while he tries to balance her bags and keep from falling. The more time I spend with all of them, the more I'm starting to realize that living in Cooper Landing is an extremely lonely experience.

Don't get me wrong, I love my life and the lodge, but as Jake and Leah make plans to move on with the next phase of their lives, I can't help but wonder if this is all there is for me. Am I destined to be alone…to spend short snippets of time with people, only to have them leave, and for me to never see them again?

It's the never ending internal conversation I have with myself, which only seems to scream louder at me as I watch all of these couples in love. I'm not itching to pop out kids or anything, but it would be nice to share my life with someone.

"We'll probably sleep in, but we'll call you," Jasper says, smirking at Alice. I giggle at the pair of them. I don't think there will be much sleeping going on in that room. Our room, well, that's another story.

Edward nods, shifting nervously while the doors start to close. "Have a pleasant evening," he says. The doors shut, and I stare up at him as the elevator lifts us to the seventeenth floor, his chest rising and falling deeply while he stares straight ahead at the door. I think he may actually be afraid to look at me.

"Hey." I reach my hand out, running it up his arm. "Are you alright?"

He takes a deep breath in. "Yes... no... I'm not sure," he mumbles, gazing down at me and running a shaky hand through his hair.

My heart aches for whatever internal turmoil he's going through. Why is this so hard for him? I don't want him to have a panic attack over this. Maybe I should have just gotten my own room. Me and my stupid impulsive ideas. _Oh, who am I trying to kid? _I've been thinking about sharing a room since he decided to join us for Jake's bachelor party. Still, the thought of him tormenting himself over this is agonizing. "Do you want your own room? I can go back down and-"

"No!" he practically shouts. I lean against the wall of the elevator, my heart hammering. "I'm sorry. I'm just... nervous."

"Why?"

The elevator dings, and he shifts my backpack up his arm, holding the door open for me. He shakes his head as I step through to the hallway. He pulls his luggage along behind him then stops at the wall in front of the elevator to study the arrows and room numbers.

"I think we're this way," he murmurs, turning to the right.

"I can take my backpack," I offer.

"It's alright. I don't mind, and you shouldn't have to carry anything, especially in your current condition."

I laugh at him. "My current condition?"

"You've had quite a bit to drink this evening, and I wouldn't want you to injure yourself," he says over his shoulder.

I pull him to a stop in the darkened hallway. "I've had a couple of drinks tonight, but I'm not drunk, okay?" His eyes search mine, wide and anxious behind his glasses. "I don't want you to be nervous. Think of it like the last couple of nights; we're just trying a new room." He swallows, nodding his head. "I don't want to sleep alone."

"Neither do I," he whispers. "I've grown... fond of sleeping."

I smile up at him. "You weren't fond of it before?"

"Not like I am now."

He looks away shyly, continuing down the hallway and stopping in front of a door with the numbers 1723 in black on it. He fumbles around in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a room key, and with trembling hands, inserts it into the card reader. He pushes open the door, leaning in and switching on a light. "After you," he says quietly, holding the door open.

I brush up against him, hearing him take a sharp breath in while I step into the room. I steady myself against the coffee coloured wall and pull my boots off, my feet sinking into a beige carpet.

The room is lit with a muted glow from the light on the nightstand. The bed is massive, covered in a golden brown comforter with a stack of throw pillows at the head. I've always wondered why people feel the need to put so many extras pillows on a bed. They're just going to end up on the floor.

I move to the large picture window, passing an oak desk, a flat screen TV on the wall, and an overstuffed chocolate brown leather chair in the corner. It feels warm and comforting. Just like he does.

I turn back and find him leaning against the door, my backpack still slung over his shoulder, watching me intently and looking terrified. I cross the room to him, grabbing both of his hands. "I can just get my own room," I offer again.

"I don't want you to. That's what scares me." He lifts my hand so it's resting over his heart. I can feel it beating practically out of his chest even over his jacket. "I don't know what to do about this," he murmurs.

"Just be you, Edward. I don't want or need or expect you to be anything but who you are."

My backpack slips from his arm, dropping to the floor beside him. My heart flies, his eyes burning into mine as he slowly brushes my hair behind my shoulder. "You are an incredibly beautiful woman," he breathes, the words drifting through the room.

I think I've stopped breathing. No one has ever said those words to me or looked at me this way, not with lust or want, but something deeper, more intense, more real, because it's him. I fight to keep my raging emotions under control. "I'm sorry. That was extremely forward of me."

I shake my head at him. "No one's ever called me that before," I admit.

He lets go of my hand, running his fingers through his hair. "What? That's impossible."

I laugh, pressing myself closer to him. He's so warm and gentle and just… Edward. "Oh, it's possible." He furrows his brow, looking down at me in disbelief. "I have been told I have a nice rack, however. Does that count?"

He takes a sharp breath in. "What? Who would say something like that?"

"Yeah, I'm lucky. I get all the sweet-talkers," I reply, trying to lighten the mood.

He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I should let you get ready… changed… your pajamas?" he stammers, bending down to pick up my backpack. He passes it to me and steps away from the door. "The room, is it to your liking?"

I watch him move along the end of the bed, his fingers trailing over the desk as he glances out the window. This man has no idea how attractive he is, and it's getting harder and harder for me to wait for that kiss he promised. _Easy, Bella. You'll scare the living hell out of him. _

"The room is wonderful. Thank you. I'm sure if you left it up to the rest of us, we'd just be sleeping in the plane."

He laughs, shaking his head. "I don't doubt that." He picks up a tourist brochure on the desk, studying it closely.

"I'll just get changed," I mumble.

He peeks up at me and nods, turning back to the brochure as I move into the bathroom.

I set my bag down on the counter and shut the door, leaning against it and wondering if in fact this kiss is ever going to happen. I'm starting to think it's not. We've had more than enough chances. He's slept at my place, we've had breakfast in bed, gone on a canoe ride, explored the waterfall, and now, we're in this room. I'm not sure what else I can do short of taking matters into my own hands, which I honestly don't want to resort to.

I know how personal he thinks kissing is, and I think I know how important it is for him to make the first move. That doesn't mean its not frustrating as hell. The wait is killing me.

I shake my head and open my backpack, pulling out a pink tank top and sleep shorts. I get dressed quickly, shoving my clothes back into my bag. I pull out my toothbrush and fish around in the depths of the bag for the toothpaste. Of course I've forgotten it. I'm actually surprised I remembered the toothbrush.

"Edward?" I call, opening the door to the bathroom and peeking out.

"Are you alright?" he asks, getting up from the edge of the bed and moving quickly to me.

"Yeah. I just forgot toothpaste. Do you have any?"

He nods, moving to his suitcase that's open on the bed. I follow him over, shaking my head at his perfectly packed luggage. His clothes are secured under one of those strap things, all expertly folded. He tugs out a small blue bag from beside his clothes and opens it, pulling out a tube of _Crest._

"It's not the same kind you have in your bathroom," he says, almost apologetically as he hands it to me.

"It's perfect. Thanks."

He nods, his eyes moving from my face to my chest and further down, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. _Hmmm._ Well, well, well.

It's nice to know I can get some sort of reaction out of him. It's too bad it's not summer. I have quite a few tank tops I think he'd be interested in.

I turn from him, making my way back to the bathroom, feeling his eyes on me and smirking to myself. Maybe that kiss isn't that far off. _Please don't let it be that far off._

I take my time brushing my teeth and emerge from the bathroom to find him unfolding a pair of pants and hanging them up in the closet. I toss my backpack against the wall near the door and make my way to the bed, flopping down beside his suitcase.

"So, what's on the agenda for tomorrow?" I ask.

"Well, Jasper and Emmett are taking Alice and Rosalie on a mountain bike ride," he answers, closing the door to the closet.

"Oh, that sounds like fun!" He scowls slightly, making his way back to the bed. "Okay, no bikes. What are we doing?"

"We?" he asks warily.

"Yeah, is it okay if I hang with you?"

He looks at me questioningly. "You want to _hang_ with me?"

"Of course I do." Do I need to be _more_ obvious?

"You're not going back to the lodge?" he asks.

"No, it's cool. Dad's got it covered."

He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I was thinking of taking in the Anchorage Museum and perhaps a trolley tour of the city," he says excitedly.

"Does your tour include one of the biggest chocolate waterfalls in the world?"

His eyes grow wider. "No."

"Hmmm. And here I thought you did all this research," I tease.

"I did," he says defensively. "I never thought to look into that, however."

"Would you like to see it? You know, I figure with your sweet tooth and everything, it would be something you'd enjoy… a lot." Hmmm, Edward and chocolate. That's something_ I_ would enjoy.

"Is it far from here?" he asks.

"Just a couple of miles."

"And you'd want to go with me? To a chocolate fountain?" he asks in disbelief.

"Yes, I would." Oh, you really have no idea, do you?

"Okay," he says timidly. "I'll just get ready for... bed." He takes his little blue bag and a fresh t-shirt from the pile of about ten he has folded in his luggage; and makes his way to the bathroom.

I lie back onto the bed, staring up at ceiling. It's clearly been too long since I've had sex, and he's like a walking temptation for me. Patience is a virtue… good things come to those who wait… doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm really not complaining… okay, maybe I am. The truth is, I love spending time with Edward, whether we kiss or not. He makes me feel… I don't even know, special and cherished. _Cherished? _Get your head out of your ass! He's leaving soon. Long distance relationships can work, right? _You can't make a relationship work here_, _what makes you think separation by thousands of miles would work. _

I groan in frustration, flopping over to my stomach. I don't know why I'm even thinking about this. I'm not a planner. See? He's rubbing off on me already. I laugh loudly at my ridiculous inner ramblings, burying my face into one of the pillows. It's almost three in the morning, and I'm pretty sure that's not a good time to be assessing my life.

"Isabella?" Edward's nervous voice causes me to jerk my head up from the pillow. "Are you alright?"

Jesus Christ, he's fucking hot. His grey t-shirt, a Hanes, no doubt, hanging loosely over his lean frame, his legs in those boxers… just fucking kill me now. "Yeah, I'm just tired, you know? Exhaustion to the point where everything is hilarious?"

He nods, moving to the bed, lifting his suitcase onto the desk and zipping it shut. "This is the latest I've ever been up," he says.

I adjust myself on the bed, lifting up to the pull the sheets down. "You never pulled an all-nighter during school?" I ask, whipping the pillows onto the floor.

He tries to hide his smirk as he moves to the pillows and collects them, setting them in the chair in the corner. "No. I never really had to. School is probably the only thing I've ever actually been good at," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at me shyly.

I scoot over, cupping his face between my hands before I can even stop myself. This man needs to know how amazing he is. "Don't ever say that. You're good at so many things."

He shakes his head. "No, I'm not." He tries to turn his head away, but I hold his face firmly.

"You are. In the time I've known you, you've planned this entire trip, hiked, canoed, sang karaoke, cleaned up my disaster finances, and saved me, just to name a few things," I remind him.

He huffs. "Emmett saved you." He stares down at the sheets, looking lost.

"Edward, look at me." He complies, his eyes searching mine. "You're an amazing man."

He lets out a long sigh. "Amazingly tired."

I laugh and lower my hands from his face. He takes his glasses off, setting them on the nightstand and then lies down, turning his head to me. I lie down next to him, resting my head on his shoulder and hitching my leg over his… baby steps. He takes a sharp breath in and then very slowly, pulls the sheet up around us.

I shut my eyes and breathe him in as he reaches over, switching off the light on the nightstand. I could get used to falling asleep beside him… actually, I think I already am.

"Isabella?" His voice brings me back form the edge of consciousness.

"Hmmm."

"Thank you."

I try to inch closer to him. "What for?"

"Just… for being you."

_BTN_

"I can't believe I didn't find this during my research," Edward mumbles as we stand in front of the chocolate waterfall inside the _Alaska Wild Berry Products_ store. "It's amazing."

I've learned more about chocolate and this waterfall than I ever thought possible. He's absolutely fascinated, asking a million questions to the teenaged employee who, quite honestly, seems a little intimated by him. "Three thousand pounds of chocolate," he says, his eyes widening as he glances at me and then back to the fountain in awe.

To be fair, it is pretty impressive, almost ten feet high, authentic copper kettles, molten chocolate gushing from the top and cascading down into a swirling pool. And it smells like heaven in here.

I tear myself away from his side and let him continue his interrogation. I wander into the gift shop, stealthily watching him from behind the displays of candy. The day has already been an interesting one, but I think that would be the case regardless of what we were doing.

We slept in until almost eleven-thirty, which Edward tells me is a first for him. Waking up beside this beautiful man is something I definitely hope to be doing again, especially if I get a repeat of what I felt this morning… his leg draped over mine, his head nestled into the crook of my neck, and an extremely hard, and if I'm not mistaken, large erection, pushing against my leg.

I tried to squirm down in the bed to check out my suspicion, but that only resulted in him bolting up and out of the bed in full on panic mode, his hands raking through his hair, his eyes darting around the room like a frightened animal. "I was dreaming, I think. But you're still here." _Oh, Edward, I assure you, I'm not going anywhere. _

What followed was a classic exchange of you-take-the-first-shower-no-you-should-go- first. When I suggested that perhaps we should just take a shower together, all the colour drained from his face and he lost the ability to speak.

Needless to say, he took the first shower while I ordered room service and tried really hard to not think about the fact that he was naked in a hot shower, right in the next room. I also used the time to check on Jake, who not surprisingly was already heading back to the plane to get back to Leah, with no signs of a hangover. I've always been amazed at his ability to drink his face off with absolutely no ramifications in the morning.

Edward emerged from the bathroom with those jeans he wore on the first hike we took, and I just about spontaneously combusted while my mouth hit the floor. "Are jeans okay? I mean, is the chocolate place formal?" he asked innocently.

"Jeans are good… perfect." _In all the right places._ We sat on the bed and ate breakfast as he ran down the itinerary for the day. I could care less where we go or what we do. I'm with him and he's wearing jeans. That's all I really need to know.

After I had a quick shower, we went downstairs and took the one hour trolley ride that he raved about, stopping at Cook Inlet. It's amazing to see from Edward's point of view. You really get an appreciation for how lucky you are to live here when you see it through someone else's perspective. He stood in awe, taking in the surrounding mountains and listening as the trolley guide went on about the tidal ranges.

Then, in typical Edward fashion, he had a massive SUV waiting for us when we arrived back at the hotel. The man should give a course in planning.

As I peruse the chocolates and candies in the gift shop, I know that I am already entering emotionally dangerous territory where he's concerned. The clock is ticking on his time here, and I can't even imagine how I'm going to feel when he's gone.

I give my head a shake, picking up a couple of packages of fudge and some chocolate covered blueberries, my eyes falling on a tin of _Polar Bear Kisses_. They're my absolute favourite; bite-sized white and dark chocolate with candy cane pieces. I'm pretty sure I could eat this whole thing myself. I pick up a package of it and head to the cash, hoping he doesn't see the bright blue tin in my hands. Maybe I can sneak them into his luggage when he's not looking.

I giggle as I pay, and the cashier bags up my purchases. "I got a sample." Edward's excited voice floats to me, and I turn from the counter to see him smiling widely.

"You did, huh? And was it good?"

He nods. "Amazing is more like it. I wonder how much of this I can take home." He turns to eye the rows of sweets.

"I bought you some fudge, so keep that in mind when you're buying up the store," I say, nudging him in the arm.

He whirls back to me, adjusting his glasses. "You bought me fudge?"

"Yeah. I thought you'd like it." He blinks down at me questioningly. "What? Has no one ever bought you fudge before?" I ask.

"No one's ever bought me anything before. I mean… Jessica never…" His voice trails, and he shakes his head.

I take a step to him so our bodies are flush. "I don't know this Jessica, but she sounds like an idiot."

His eyes grow wide and then he starts laughing. "That's a horrible thing to say," he manages.

I lift an eyebrow to him. "Am I wrong?"

He bites down on his lip to stifle his laughter. "She was just… she had her quirks."

"Hmmm. Which is a really nice way of saying she's an idiot."

He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. "Come on. You can help me pick out chocolate for Rosalie and Alice… and Emmett, of course. He'd kill me if I didn't bring him back something from a place like this," he says, holding his hand out to me.

I place my hand in his and let him lead me back to through the aisles.

_BTN_

"Isabella, I don't know about this," Edward says as he shifts nervously beside me while we wait in line for a hot dog from _M. A.'s_. _M. A.'s Hot Dogs_ is an Anchorage institution, dolling out a wide variety of smoked hot dogs and sausages from a stand underneath a large green umbrella at the corner of 4th Avenue and F Street. They are by far the best in the city.

As usual, it's quite a wait in line to actually get to the stand, but we are entertained by the alternating blues and hip hop beats emanating from an old ghetto blaster that sits on the ground beside the cart.

"They're awesome. You'll love it." I link my arm around his and lean into him.

"Do I have to have a reindeer one?" he asks quietly.

I chuckle, shaking my head at him. "No. You should start out with the basics… maybe an Italian sausage," I suggest.

He nods while we shuffle our way to the front of the line. The smell of spices and the sizzle of onions from a cast iron pan engulf us as the owner asks for our order. "Two Italian sausages," I say.

"With onions?" the guy behind the stand asks, snapping his tongs in the air. He's quite a character; a rugged look to him, which seems in complete contrast to the hot pink apron he's wearing.

I look up at Edward, and he furrows his brow. "They're marinated with Coca-Cola," I tell him.

"Are you having onions?" Edwards asks.

I shake my head at him. Normally, I probably would, but I don't want lingering onion breath… you know, just in case.

"Then no," he says. My heart picks up a bit at that answer.

The man behind the stand brings me out my haze. "Did you want the combo? Chips and a drink?"

"Sure. Two waters," I answer. Yeah, normally I'd probably have a Coke or something, but I think I'm pushing Edward enough with the hot dog already.

I watch as Edward takes it all in, eyeing the condiment bar warily as I hand him his foil wrapped dog. He painstakingly squirts out a thin line of ketchup from the dispenser while I pay for our impromptu lunch.

After I add mustard and ketchup to mine, he follows along as I lead him to a wooden bench and sit down. "You've never had a hot dog before, have you?" I ask.

"Yes, of course I have. When I was five," he replies, sitting beside me. "You know my thoughts on these."

"Actually, I don't. I didn't let you finish your thoughts on hot dogs the other night, but I don't really want to know. Close your eyes and take a bite."

"Okay," he says tentatively. He takes a deep breath and then a big bite, chewing slowly with his eyes shut. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and his eyes fly open. "It's good." I laugh and lean back on the bench. "Really, really good."

"See? Sometimes I have good ideas."

He nods, taking another bite of the hot dog and relaxing further into the bench. This is the best date—that's what I've decided to call it—I've ever had. Edward seems more relaxed, and it's incredible to see him sitting here on a bench in the middle of Anchorage, eating a hot dog. I know that to most people, this would seem like nothing, but for Edward, this is a very big deal.

We sit on the bench, under an unseasonably warm sun as the afternoon drifts away.

_BTN_

"Isabella, you're beautiful no matter what you wear," Edward's voice drifts to me from behind the shut bathroom door as I scowl at myself in the mirror.

He's taking me to the symphony. He dropped that little bomb on me on the drive back to the hotel after our hot dog adventure this afternoon. Okay, so he actually was nervous, sweet, and stammering when he asked if I would, and I quote, "Care to accompany me to enjoy the symphony this evening."

My heart pretty much stopped when those words came out of his mouth. Apparently, the Anchorage symphony is playing a selection of Brahms, as advertised on the back of the tourist brochure in the hotel room, so he tells me.

I've never been to the symphony, and now I'm nervous that I'm not dressed right. I've got on a black flowy skirt that I had thrown into my backpack, a black and white zig zag, striped sweater, and my knee length boots. I don't look like something the cat dragged in, but this is the symphony for God's sake. Shouldn't I be in something more formal?

I brush out my hair for the millionth time and then leave the brush on the counter. This is as good as it gets. I open the door and find him standing in front of the mirror on the closet door, adjusting his black and grey striped tie. I'm not sure which is more tempting… Edward in jeans or Edward in a suit.

He turns from the mirror, his mouth dropping open. "You're just… you look beautiful," he says quietly.

"You, too." He turns back to the mirror, buttoning up his jacket, and then shuts the closet door.

"It's just a suit," he mutters.

"It's you in a suit."

He smiles shyly, shaking his head. "The rest of the group is joining us for dinner, is that alright?" he asks cautiously.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't just a bit disappointed. I kind of wanted him all to myself tonight. "Yeah, of course. Are they coming to the symphony, too?"

He chuckles and moves to the door. "Definitely not. They're going back to that dreadful bar, I think."

He opens the door for me, watching as I move into the hallway. He shuts the door, his hand falling effortlessly to the small of my back, causing me to take a sharp breath in. "Sorry," he mumbles, removing his hand like its on fire and staring at the carpet.

I grab his hand, lacing my fingers with his. "Don't be sorry. I like your hands on me."

"You… you do?" he asks, his voice a whisper.

"Yeah, I do." I squeeze his hand and start down the hallway to the elevator.

_BTN_

"You guys totally should have come," Emmett raves as he drapes an arm over Rose's chair. "That trail was wicked!"

"I've done that trail before. It's awesome," I say, taking another sip of wine while we relax inside _Orso_, an amazing restaurant, with warm amber lighting and a fantastic menu.

We've spent the dinner gorging ourselves on appetizers before the main course. We all ordered something different off the menu so we could sample, much to Edward's dismay. He's not a fan of sharing food; although, he did moan when he tasted the salmon stuffed ravioli I ordered. That moan nearly did me in. This man is going to kill me and he doesn't even realize it.

"What did you guys do today?" Alice asks.

"Well, the trolley tour in the morning, visited a chocolate shop, and we had hot dogs this afternoon," Edward says, smiling down at me.

"Dude, you better have brought me back some chocolate," Emmett says, narrowing his eyes at Edward.

"Of course I did. I have chocolate for all of you."

"One of the many reasons I love you, man," Jasper says, nudging Edward in the shoulder.

"More wine, Isabella?" Edward asks, holding the bottle over my glass.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" I tease.

"What? No. I just thought you may want some more before we go."

"No. I'm good. I want to be sober when I experience the symphony."

He puts the bottle of wine back on the table and leans towards me. "I'd like for you to be sober for the rest of the evening, as well."

Chapter end notes:

Hmmm… so, chocolate shops, hot dog stands, innuendo from Edward at the dinner table…Let me know your thoughts.

Did you figure out the pattern for Bella's chapters yet? Numberward is proud of those of you who already did.

Alaska Wild Berry Products… yes, they do exist and are wonderful.

The Chocolate Fountain:www(dot) photobucket(dot)com/albums/xx267/CarLemon/By%20The%

Cook Inlet: Picturesque Alaska: www(dot) photobucket (dot)com/albums/xx267/CarLemon/By%20The%

Orso-yes, downtown Anchorage, close to the Symphony, of course. Would Numberward plan it any other way?

Twitter: CarLemon


	16. Chapter 16

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. March, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her wonderful story, now complete: These Days. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. As always, let me know what you think. So, they're off to the symphony. Come, join me.

_**Edward**_

Chapter 16

Three. The number of blocks we've walked with Isabella's hand firmly holding mine, her body leaning against me while we make our way to the Anchorage Symphony and an evening of Brahms, which I am thoroughly looking forward to. I think there has been a permanent smile etched on my face since she miraculously agreed to accompany me.

Eight. The number of questions Isabella has asked about the symphony. She seems genuinely interested, which is, honestly, quite surprising. I'm more than happy to indulge any questions she has.

Two tickets, which I had the hotel front desk print for me, tucked safely away in the inner pocket of my jacket. This represents the first time I've attended the symphony with anyone besides my mother. I'm terrified of what she's going to think. It's a far cry from Ratt with two Ts.

Her eyes widen as she makes her way into the lobby of the concert hall. It's humming with the usual pre-show excitement. People mingle in small groups, sipping wine and murmuring to each other, their intermittent laughter drifting to us as we proceed to an usher, who I hand the tickets to.

Once he takes our tickets, we move further into the reception area. She takes it all in, watching the crowd, reading the large poster at the entranceway to the hall, a contented smile on her face, which I take to mean that she doesn't want to bolt, yet.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" I ask, my hand falling to the small of her back. This time, her body doesn't jerk like it did at the hotel when I touched her. In fact, she seems to relax into me, gazing up at me expectantly.

"No thanks. Is it always buzzing like this?" she asks while we stand outside the doors to the hall.

"Buzzing?"

"Yeah. It reminds me of how I felt just before the Guns 'n Roses concert I went to… well, minus the smell of weed in the air," she says, glancing around the lobby.

I laugh quietly. "Yes, well, there won't be any weed at this particular concert."

She giggles and leans into my side. "Thank you," she says quietly, squeezing my hand.

"What for?"

"For bringing me here. Letting me see something that you really love."

"I'm not so sure you will enjoy it," I say warily.

"Of course I will. What's not to love about something that makes you this happy?"

"I'm not happy because of the symphony."

"You're not?" she asks, furrowing her brow.

"No. I'm happy because you're seeing it with me." Her mouth drops open for a second, and she grips my hand tighter. "I'm sorry. That was rather forward," I mumble, shifting nervously.

"No, it wasn't. You have no idea how amazing you are."

I stare back at her, so tempted to just give in to the feeling, but knowing this is not the time or the place. Perhaps later… I feel my erection push against my trousers at the thought. I was doing so well. I thought I had these under control, but it seems not.

"We should take our seats," I suggest. _Yes, something else to focus on._

"Right… yeah." She keeps her hand firmly holding mine as I find an usher, and he leads us to our second floor balcony seats. I wait for her to sit before I sink down into the seat next to her. The usher passes us programs for the performance and then disappears into the aisle.

"Oh! I can read along," she says happily, opening up the program and scanning it. I watch her, utterly fascinated at her expressions while she reads. "Holy shit there's a lot of people in this."

I chuckle and open the program, which normally, I would be engrossed in until the orchestra is ready, but right now, I'm not the least bit interested in its contents.

"Hmm… Says here Brahms was a perfectionist. Sounds like someone else I know," she says, turning to me as her hand falls to my thigh, doing nothing for my resolve to focus on the performance rather than her.

I clear my throat, my eyes darting to her hand. "Um. Yes. He was. He actually destroyed many of his works and left some of them unfinished, believing they were not adequate."

She cocks her head. "Is that why you like his music? Because he was a perfectionist?"

"No. I mean, of course that is a quality to be admired, but he was a master of form and harmony, and even though he was a traditionalist, he's considered to be an innovator as well with how he blended different styles of music." Her smile widens at my answer. "I'm sorry. That's probably incredibly boring for you to hear."

"No. It's not. You have a passion for this. It's good to see." I nod and take in the concert hall as she resumes reading the program.

The theatre probably houses over two thousand sage green seats and boasts a dramatic starburst pattern on the ceiling, radiating from the stage in brilliant shades of red, green, and gold. I'm sure the acoustics are magnificent. I hear the sounds of the orchestra warming up from behind the curtain, and my heart hammers. It's been too long since I've been to a performance.

Mom and I used to go all the time, but lately, with my schedule at work and prepping for teaching the weekly class at the college, that has fallen to the wayside. We need to start going again. It was always something just the two of us shared; something we bonded over that didn't involve Emmett's barrage of sporting events. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed attending Emmett's games and watching him play, but you can only see so many soccer fields before they all start to blend together.

The symphony was something special for us, and I feel horrible for letting that experience slip away. I would take her out to dinner, always at _The Brooklyn_. While I'm not particularly a fan of oysters, they are her favourite.

She always orders the baker's dozen oyster selection, but changes her main course each time, claiming she's testing which combination is best. I, on the other hand, forgo an appetizer and always get the sirloin medium well. I smirk to myself, remembering that their menu contains several Alaskan salmon dishes. I don't think I'll be able to look at the menu the same way, now.

After dinner, Mom and I would take the short stroll to the symphony and enjoy an evening with the orchestra. I make a mental note to call her upon our return and schedule a time for us to go.

I glance at Isabella as she studies the program. As she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, I wonder what Mom would think of her. She's been dropping not so subtle hints lately regarding one of her friend's daughters, which I have chosen to ignore.

I know that she worries about me being alone, not that I mind. It's easier that way… at least it _was _easier, before I came here and my entire life got turned on upside down. Now, I can't imagine being alone. I can't imagine being without Isabella.

"How long does it take to write a symphony?" Isabella asks, stirring me from my reverie.

"That's completely dependant on the composer. Brahms took almost fifteen years to complete his first one."

"Holy shit!" she yells, causing the couple behind us to murmur and narrow their eyes in my direction. "Sorry." She lowers her voice. "That just seems like a really long time."

"It is, but his work is just… genius. Some of the most sublime music ever written." She shivers and leans into me. "Are you cold? Would you like my jacket?" I ask.

"No. You just gave me goosebumps." I laugh and breathe her in as the lights dim. "Wanna make out?" she asks, her lips next to my ear.

I think I've stopped breathing, but I manage to turn my head to her as she waggles her eyebrows at me. "Isabella, I—"

"I'm just kidding," she whispers, gently squeezing my leg.

I stare at her as she fixes her eyes on the stage, clapping with the rest of the audience when the curtain rises. She's so amazingly beautiful, it's actually hard to believe she's real and that she's sitting with me at the symphony. She glances at me, still clapping and nodding her head to the stage as the conductor walks out.

I turn my attention to the orchestra, quickly getting lost in the genius that is Brahms.

_BTN_

There is nothing that is as moving as experiencing the symphony live. That's what I used to think, until tonight. Experiencing this with her far exceeds any of my previous visits to the symphony.

She squeezes my leg when the music lifts and turns emotionally, as it often does with Brahms. Her eyes water at one of the horn solos, and she shakes her head in awe. She bites her lip, her fingers drawing an enticing pattern on my thigh during symphony number three, stirring something deep inside of me. It's the most erotic experience I've ever had.

I'm trying to focus on the pieces, but quite honestly, I'm distracted. I should be paying attention to the masterful interpretation of Brahms' work, but it's becoming extremely difficult as the night drifts on. Instead, I close my eyes and try to commit this to memory. I doubt if I'll ever experience anything this moving again.

Her touch along with the compelling notes that lift up to us from the stage is an intoxicating combination. I've always been able to feel Brahms and thought I knew what kind of emotion he was trying to convey. That I could find another level of appreciation for his music through her mere presence is incredible. Sitting beside her, feeling her, wanting her, listening to her sigh, is bringing a whole new level to experiencing his masterful works. I will never listen to his music again without thinking about tonight, without thinking about her.

Suddenly, she claps loudly, letting out an appreciative whistle, while the rest of the audience sits in silence, the couple behind us shushing her in annoyance. I whip my head back to them, narrowing my eyes before looking back at her.

She flushes, sinking down into her seat and looking at me nervously. "Was I not supposed to clap?" she asks shyly.

I lean over to her, my lips at her ear. "It's not done, yet."

"Shit," she murmurs, bringing the program in front of her face while the orchestra moves into the final movement.

I lift the program from her gently. "It's okay. I'm glad you're enjoying it."

I pick up her hand and gently lift it to my lips, kissing the back softly, soaking in the feel of her skin against my lips. Her eyes widen, her mouth falling open. "It's an incredibly different experience seeing this with you," I whisper.

"Different good or different bad?" she asks warily.

"Different good… very, very good."

Our eyes stay locked as the orchestra finishes hauntingly, the final bars of the piece lingering in the hall. The audience claps enthusiastically, and she smirks at me. "Now, we clap," I instruct, releasing her hand and rising with the crowd to give the orchestra the standing ovation they rightly deserves.

Once the applause has died down, the balcony begins to empty quickly. I look back at her, gauging her reaction. "Did you enjoy that?"

She lets out a shaky breath. "That was… incredible. Is it right that it makes me feel happy and sad at the same time?" she asks innocently.

I smile at her description. "There's no right or wrong for how music makes you feel."

"How does it make you feel?" she asks.

"Alive." _Even more so experiencing it with you._

She lifts my hand to her heart which is hammering under her sweater. "Is this what I'm supposed to be feeling?" I smile and nod. "I almost forgot to breathe during some of that," she admits.

"It's a captivating mixture of harmonies and textures. He was incredibly gifted and they did play beautifully." _From what I remember, from where I could focus when I wasn't fixated on you._

"Can you play it for me?"

She looks up at me hopefully, my resolve crumbling. "Isabella, I don't play well enough for you to hear me," I reply quietly. I really don't want to upset her, but I'm not sure I'm ready to play for her, or if I'll ever be.

"I don't care, and I'm sure you're wonderful. I can't imagine anything less from you."

I shake my head. "You are too kind, and that's quite an expectation you have of me."

"I believe it. You're good at everything," she says firmly.

I hum a response, wishing that were true, and take her hand, leading her out of the concert hall.

_BTN_

I'm waiting outside of the ladies room, trying to calm my racing heart. I'm vaguely aware of the conversations that are taking place beside me as people discuss their thoughts on the performance. I'm trying to focus on them, on anything that will help to settle my nerves.

I'm absolutely certain I want to kiss her. If I'm being honest, I've wanted to kiss her for some time now. But I'm also painfully aware that our time together is limited. I know that when I leave, it's going to be extremely difficult for me. I'm not sure that introducing a kiss will help matters. Actually, I'm sure it will make it more difficult for me, if that's possible.

These last few days have been enlightening. She's brought something to my life that I didn't realize I was even missing. She's tested my boundaries, making me feel things that I thought I never would. I'm not ready for this to end. I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for that.

As I continue to ponder the kiss, she emerges from the ladies room, her smile widening when she sees me. "You didn't have to wait right here," she says, stopping in front of me.

"I told you I would."

"And you're a man of your word."

"Yes."

"It's good to know that quality hasn't completely disappeared," she states, linking her arm with mine.

I can't help the scowl that appears as a result of her words. "Do men often break their promises to you?"

She huffs in annoyance. "Haven't met one yet that didn't. Well, with the exception of Dad and you."

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely. I can't understand how anyone could treat her poorly.

"God! You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault most of the male population is made up of dogs," she says as we weave our way through the groups of people still milling about on our way to the doors. "How many times have you been to the symphony?"

"Twenty-one."

"And how does tonight compare to the others?"

"There is no comparison. It's the most intense experience I've had," I answer truthfully.

"They were that good, huh?"

I smirk at her. "Something like that."

She smiles, squeezing my arm, and is then jostled from behind, her body lurching forward. My arm instinctively wraps around her waist, and I pull her upright. "Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," she breathes, turning her head back, her eyes widening. "Riley?"

I turn my head to see a waiter trying desperately not to drop the wine glasses that are precariously tipping on his tray. He manages to not spill them all over us, and then, his eyes lock onto Isabella. I realize immediately that he knows her. He's practically leering at her, and she looks less than impressed, her jaw set uncharacteristically.

_Another boyfriend._ Tall, good looking, confident—everything I'm not. I adjust my glasses and try hard to rein in my jealousy. I have absolutely no reason to feel this way. Isabella is a beautiful, single woman, entitled to enjoy the company of men, regardless of what I may think or feel.

"Hey, Bella!" he says, a little too enthusiastically. She pulls away from me, and he uses his free arm to embrace her while my blood boils. "What are you doing here? Did you lose a bet or something?"

"No. I came to see the symphony," she says, extracting herself from him and moving closer to me.

"Lucky you," he says, rolling his eyes. "Total snooze fest, huh?"

"Actually, I loved it."

He scoffs. "Yeah right, sure you did, Miss Heavy Metal Queen."

She ignores his derogatory comments as I bite my cheek to the point of pain in order to keep myself from saying something I know I'll regret. "When did you start working here? I thought the cruise ships were a full time gig for you?" she asks.

"Yeah, well, I thought I'd do something different for a while. You look good," he says, his eyes shamelessly devouring her. "Really good. It's been too long."

She links her arm with mine, ignoring his tactless behaviour. "Riley, this is Edward Cullen."

"Hey," he says, nodding his head and looking at me questioningly.

"Nice to meet you," I say, extending a hand, wondering how long they've known each other. _No, actually, I don't think I want to know. _He balances the tray and shakes my hand awkwardly.

"Edward is visiting from Seattle," Isabella explains.

"And you took him here of all places?" he asks incredulously. Clearly, this man has no concept of manners or common courtesy. He's managed to offend both Isabella and me with a single sentence.

"Edward invited me."

"Uh huh." He shakes his head, turning his attention back to her. "We should have dinner soon. We have a lot to get caught up on," he says suggestively.

She narrows her eyes at him. "You know, I don't really think we do." I don't think this could be any more awkward. They clearly have a history, and I feel like I'm intruding.

"Aw, come on, Bells," he presses, while I stare back at him in disbelief. What is it with these men and not taking "no" for an answer? He turns his head to the bar and scowls as the bartender motions him to go over. "Shit. I better get back over there. Call me." He hoists the tray up above is head and weaves his way back through the crowd.

"Edward?" Her voice registers, and I look down at her. "I'm sorry about Riley. He's a first rate jackass," she says vehemently.

"You had a relationship with him?" I ask the obvious.

"Yeah. For a while." I nod, feeling my body stiffen. How is it possible that this incredible woman has had to deal with such obnoxious men? "Turns out, he loves himself more than he could ever love anyone else. He's a bit of a selfish dick," she explains. Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey." She reaches up, cupping my cheek. I take a sharp breath in at the contact. "It's not your fault, and it's led me to being with you tonight, so it can't be all bad."

"That is an extremely positive way of looking at it," I murmur.

"Live and learn, right?" she asks hopefully.

"I suppose."

She laughs, slowly removing her hand from my cheek. "What did you learn from that Jessica loser?" she asks, pulling on my arm, coaxing me to the door.

"She's not a loser."

She looks back at me over her shoulder, furrowing her brow in frustration. "Edward..."

"But you're right. I learned a lot, I think." I move in front of her to push open the door. She smiles and steps through into the cool Alaskan night. The temperature has dropped considerably, and she instinctively wraps her arms around herself as we move to the side of the building.

I unbutton my jacket and shake it off, holding it out to her wordlessly. She shakes her head and turns so her back is facing me. I slowly help her into the jacket, my hands lingering on her shoulders. She turns to me, her skin highlighted under the muted glow of the street lamp.

"What did you learn from Jessica?" she asks.

I stare at the ground for a moment, before looking back at her. "That I'm not very good at relationships, and that I shouldn't necessarily believe everything people say. That I'm incredibly boring and am good at holding purses when women want to dance." Her mouth drops open, tears welling up in her eyes. "What's wrong? Oh, God. Did I offend you?" I ask, not understanding her reaction at all. I'm just telling her the truth.

She bites down on her bottom lip, her hands flattening over my shirt, up around my neck. My heart hammers at her touch, at how close she is. "You need to forget everything about that fucked up relationship you had," she says firmly, sniffling slightly. "You are wonderful at relationships, and you can believe everything I've ever said to you. You are the exact opposite of boring, and I'd never ask you to hold my purse. I'd want you to dance with me, not sit in some corner hiding away. And if I actually remembered to bring a purse, I'd hold onto it myself."

I'm rendered speechless by this incredible woman, by how she makes me feel, by how she seems to feel about me. My arm wraps around her waist, over my jacket that is several sizes too big for her. "Would you like to dance, now?" The words tumble out my mouth before I have a chance to stop them.

She brushes the tears from her cheek, glancing down the street at the thinning crowds making their way home from the symphony. "Out here?" she asks, her eyes widening at my ridiculous suggestion.

"Oh, why not?" I lift her hand, resting it against my chest.

"But there's no music," she says, fighting back a giggle.

"Just sway. That's what the person who taught me to dance said."

She stares up at me, her free hand trailing around my neck, my body reveling in feeling her this close. I clear my throat and start to move in a slow circle, the way she showed me, concentrating on not moving to fast.

She rests her head on my chest. I'm sure she can feel my heart flying. I try to focus on the small circular pattern we're moving in, nodding to the passersby who look at us as if we're from another planet. Not in a million years did I ever think I'd be dancing without music in the middle of street.

She hums, her fingers tickling the hair at the nape of my neck. "We don't need music," she murmurs, lifting her head from my chest, her eyes finding mine.

"Maybe we should have some, anyway."

"I'll just get my iPod… oh wait, it's my purse that I forgot at the hotel" she teases. "At least you didn't have to hold it."

I chuckle, tightening my grip on her hand. "Hmm, well, I may have a solution for not having an iPod."

"You do?"

"_My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you,"_ I start, hoping I don't sound horribly off key.

Her smile fills her face. "You're singing our karaoke song," she says.

"Well, I'm trying to."

"Don't let me stop you," she says, laughing softly. I could listen to that sound everyday and not tire of it.

I take a deep breath and continue.

_"I've been running 'round in circles in my mind."_ She stares up at me, my heart in my throat. _"And it always seems that I'm following you, girl, 'cause you take me to the places, that alone I'd never find."_

She takes a sharp breath in. "I know. I'm a horrible singer," I say apologetically. _What on earth am I thinking?_

She shakes her head, her eyes glassing over. "No. You're not. You're just… Edward…"

I feel the air shift between us, her body inching closer to mine. "Isabella." I stop turning, my hand moving slowly from the small of her back to her cheek. She wets her lips, her chest rising and falling deeply. "May I kiss you?" I can barely hear my voice.

She swallows, her eyes wide as she nods quickly. I trail my hand from her cheek, slipping it behind her neck, my fingers gently sliding into her hair. She closes her eyes, her face lifted slightly. My heart races while my pulse thunders in my ears, obliterating every other sound around us.

I close my eyes and still my lips in front of hers, breathing her in, her breath warm against my skin. And then, with my heart in my throat, I gently press my lips to hers, tentatively fluttering, lingering, savouring the way she feels; soft, warm, and inviting.

She presses herself impossibly closer, her lips moving with mine, slowly, cautiously as I lose myself in the kiss. Her hand flies from my neck into my hair, a low hum emanating from her as she deepens the kiss. My entire body is on fire; alive and electric, like nothing I've ever felt before and probably never will feel again.

Her fingers twist in my hair, our mouths moving more urgently while I try my best to pour everything into this kiss. I want her to know how much she's already brought to my life, how she makes me feel. It may be the only chance I get.

I try to commit every move, every feeling to memory. The curve of her neck, the softness of her lips, the feel of her hair between my fingers, the warmth of her body as it presses against mine.

All too soon, she pulls back slightly, catching her breath, and I rest my forehead against hers, afraid to open my eyes. She takes a shaky breath in, cupping my face in her hands. "Edward?" I shiver at the way my name sounds as it falls from her lips. "Open your eyes." I comply, my glasses fogging slightly while I try not to pass out. "That was the best first kiss I've ever had."

I shake my head, feeling myself flush. "I'm sure it—"

She silences my protest, placing her fingers over my lips. "I'd never lie to you," she says firmly.

My eyes slide shut, my nose skimming down along her neck as I try to gather myself.

"Would you care for a cappuccino or a night cap before we go back to the hotel?" I ask quietly, not pulling away from her. I know it's a ridiculous question as soon as it's out of my mouth. I've just had the most transcendent kiss of my life and I'm asking about cappuccino? _Yes, I'm so smooth. _

She lets out a quiet, little giggle. "Would you like a cappuccino?"

"If you would."

"Edward?" Her hands flatten firmly down my chest. "Don't think about me or what I might want. Do _you_ want a night cap?"

My heart races, the light breeze moving through her hair, and I say without any hesitation, "No. I just want to go back to the hotel… with you."

Chapter End Notes:

Hmmm. So, the symphony, some dancing and oh… a kiss. Thoughts?

How many of you thought good old REO Speedwagon would make an appearance again? _I Can't Fight This Feeling_ – Lyrics by Kevin Cronin, 1984

Do yourself a favour and listen to the genius that is Brahms. If you don't feel something after listening to this, I'm not sure what's wrong with you.

www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=1trE3ms3AGo

Twitter: CarLemon


	17. Chapter 17

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. March, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her wonderful story, now complete: These Days. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story.

Come join me as we check in with our Numberward. What will the rest of the night bring?

_**Edward**_

Chapter 17

One cab. It feels like the longest cab ride in the history of cab rides. We didn't need to take a cab. The hotel isn't far from the symphony, and an evening stroll would actually have been nice. Isabella, however, has other ideas.

My words about wanting to go back to the hotel hung in the air for a few moments, and then, she practically ran up the sidewalk, waving her arms and causing a taxi to screech to a halt at the curb.

And now, we sit in the back of the yellow taxi, her fingers intertwined with mine, her thumb rubbing gently over my knuckles, her head on my shoulder while I try not to hyperventilate.

To feel her beside me, her body tucked into mine, anticipation lingering in the air, is overwhelming. I am awash with emotion. I'm terrified, excited, nervous, aroused; it's a heady mix, and the longer we sit in the back of the cab, the harder my heart pounds.

I try to focus on something, anything to calm me. The neon signs from the restaurants and offices blur past us, and I only see a range of distorted colours. I can't focus on the number of cars we pass, because I'm hyper aware of the pattern her thumb is making on the back of my hand.

Circle-straight line-circle-repeat.

I take a shaky breath in, and she lifts her head from my shoulder. "You okay?"

I can only nod. Speech fails me, but she seems happy with my non-verbal answer and lowers her head back to my shoulder.

I have no idea what's going to happen next. No plan; _me_ with no plan when the possibilities seem endless, right now. I'm reeling by what's happened tonight, by the kiss, by her, by what could be.

I know it's dangerous to think about what could be when I'm leaving. My life is in Seattle. My life… what is it, really? I work, I run on the treadmill, I watch Jeopardy, and I teach a group of less than enthusiastic students. After what I've experienced this week, it seems rather lacking, mundane even. What's more, I thought I was happy. I was content with my life, and now… now I'm more confused than I've ever been.

Confusion isn't normal for me. On those rare occasions that I am perplexed about something, I analyze and decipher until the logic of the situation reveals itself. How do I do that when emotions like this are involved? I cannot rationalize my heart beating faster, the smile on my face when I see her, the intense desire to be with her.

I certainly never experienced anything like this with Jessica. Of course, I was attracted to her, but not like this. With Jessica, everything was planned and orchestrated, mostly by her. She knew my limits, and we stayed within them. Never challenging, never changing, always staying the course.

I know now, of course, that was not just for my benefit. She used our scheduled time apart to find someone more interesting, more exciting, and honestly, I can't really blame her.

That's something else I can't understand; why Isabella wants to spend time with me when she could be doing something much more exciting, with someone much more interesting than me.

I close my eyes, playing back the events of the evening; her reaction to the symphony, the encounter with Riley, the kiss. That kiss will be seared in my memory for the rest of my life. Her fingers in my hair, the way her lips moved with mine, her taste, and the little sounds she made. I'd like to hear them again, and that terrifies me.

I'm forced back to reality with the touch of Isabella's hand on my arm. "Edward?"

I stare down at her, completely overwhelmed by how I came to be sitting in the back of a cab with this amazing woman.

"We're here," she says softly. "I'd pay for the cab, but I forgot my purse."

I peer out the window at the front doors of the hotel. How did we get here so fast? How long have we been sitting here? She must think I'm a complete idiot. "Right, of course." My eyes dart from hers, to my jacket that still hangs off her, and then back, again. "Um, my wallet is…" My voice trails, and I nod to my jacket.

She smiles, slowly opening the jacket, gently pulling my wallet out of the inner pocket and holding it out to me. My fingers brush against hers as I take the wallet, paying the driver with shaking hands.

I can feel her watching every move I make, and I wish I knew what she was thinking. I have no idea how to gauge her reaction to the kiss. I think she enjoyed it, and she seems to like being close to me, but that doesn't make any sense.

I think seeing Riley tonight was a harsh dose of reality for me. That's the type of man I can see her with; confident and good looking. I can't understand why she's not with someone like that, why she's choosing to spend time with me.

The driver thrusts my change back at me, and I fumble with it before giving him back a tip. I hand her the wallet, and she tucks it back into my jacket, smiling up at me as I rise out the cab.

I hold my hand out to her, my eyes falling to a sliver of exposed skin between her skirt and her high boots. That does nothing for my will power. If I wasn't on the edge of the precipice before, I certainly am now.

I adjust my glasses with my free hand as she takes my extended one, the warmth traveling through me while we make our way through the lobby and to the elevator.

She presses the up arrow and then leans into me. "You're quiet, all of a sudden," she remarks.

"Just processing."

"Is that good?"

I nod, staring up at the numbers as the elevator descends.

Six…five. She glances up at me, smiling. My eyes dart back to the elevator.

Four… three. She squeezes my hand, and I squeeze hers back.

Two… The elevator dings open, and I breathe a sigh of relief, holding the door for her. She steps in, pulling me along behind her. I'm sure I'd still be standing there, staring blankly at nothing, if she didn't.

The elevator ride seems to take forever while she leans into me, sighing softly, the sound doing nothing for my nerves. I try to focus on something to calm me, but that's impossible. I all can feel is her… all I _want_ to feel is her.

I know she's staring up at me. I don't dare look down, or I will lose all sense of composure. I want nothing more than to kiss her, repeatedly, and then, maybe—The elevator opens, along with a harsh ding, bringing me back to reality. I need to stay grounded. It was just a kiss; a_n earth moving, heart stopping kiss._

I follow along behind her as she leads us down the hallway, stopping in front of our door. _Our door._ My heart is in my throat at the thought. I shift anxiously in front of it, and she laughs softly. "Are we going to sleep in the hallway?" she teases.

"No. The key is in my wallet, in my jacket, which you're currently wearing." I'm amazed I'm able to form a sentence.

"Well, maybe you should get it," she taunts, her eyes lingering on my mouth.

I take a deep breath and lean towards her, my fingers slowly trailing up my jacket while it hangs off her. She shivers, taking a quick breath in, my fingers grazing her arm while I fish my wallet from the inside pocket, my torso dangerously close to hers.

I finally free the wallet from its confines and open it to retrieve the room key. It takes longer than it should for me to get the key card out, due to the fact that I can't stop shaking.

Once I finally retrieve it, I pass it over the reader and watch the light turn green before opening the door.

"After you."

She laughs softly, nudging me in the arm. "Are you always going to hold doors open for me?" she teases.

"Yes."

"Hmm." She brushes past me and into the room, flipping the light switch. "Maybe you're just trying to get lucky," she says, tilting her head to the side.

Oh God! Is that what she thinks? "What? No! That's not-" I am moved to silence as she steps in front of me; so close, so tempting.

"I'm just kidding," she clarifies, a playful expression taking over her face, only I'm not laughing. Normally, I would be, but now, I don't want to laugh. I want… I want her.

Silence drifts between us as I slowly wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me. Her breathing hitches, her mouth dropping open. "Please, kiss me," she whispers, her hand flattening up over my chest.

"Isabella." It's a plea, a prayer, maybe even a warning. I'm at the edge of my control, and I'm there willingly, pushed by something that is stronger than I could ever hope to be.

She runs her nose against my cheek, her lips hovering over mine, and I can take no more. I close my eyes, pressing my lips to hers, softly, slowly, soaking in the feeling. She hums, her hand moving to my neck, up into my hair as she deepens the kiss, her tongue sliding with mine, in a move so erotic, it almost brings me to my knees.

She pushes against me, my back pressed against the door, her fingers twisting in my hair. Emotion spins and sends me flying, her leg hitches up, trying to wrap around me. My hand moves lower to the small of her back, and I coax her closer. I need more… more contact, more feeling, more of her.

Her lips move to my neck, her fingers twisting out of my hair and down to my tie. I can feel her everywhere, my mind racing as she fumbles with the knot on the tie. Her lips move to my ear, and I feel myself shiver. "Tell me what you want," she murmurs.

"You, just you," I answer without hesitation, the truth crashing down on me. I've never felt this way or wanted anyone like this.

Her lips find mine again, urgency growing between us. My hands move to cup her face, my erection straining against my slacks, which brings yet another impossible truth crashing down.

"Wait." I pull away reluctantly, my head falling back against the door while I struggle to get control of my breathing.

She stares back at me, her eyes dark and wanting, her chest heaving. "What is it?" she asks gently, taking a step back.

"I don't…" I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair. "I don't have any… you know?" My eyes dart down, then back to her, praying that she understands.

She smiles, laughing quietly. "It's okay. I have some."

My eyes widen at her admission. "Y… you do? Do you always—" I stop that thought before I can finish it.

"No. I don't _always_. But a girl can hope."

I swallow audibly, glad to be leaning against the door. I'm sure if I wasn't, I'd be on the floor.

"We don't have to do anything that you don't want to do. We can just sleep," she says, her fingers tracing my jaw, her torso once again pressed against mine.

I shut my eyes, feeling the burn. "What if I don't want to just sleep?" My eyes snap open to her beautiful face as I feel the weight of my words.

"That's okay, too. Whatever you want."

I furrow my brow, shaking my head. "No. It should be what you want."

"No. It should be what _we_ want," she says firmly.

"I don't… I don't do these things, and I'm leaving in a few days." I finally regain some semblance of control of my senses.

"Hmm, well, there's this thing called the phone, oh, and the internet."

"Your internet connection is severely lacking."

She laughs, stepping away from me, her expression shifting. She looks hurt, sad even. "Okay. I'll just get ready for bed," she mutters.

"Isabella…" I cannot stop the impulse to reach my hand out to her. I touch her arm, and she turns back to me, her eyes glassy. "It's not you."

She huffs a laugh. "You want to know how many times I've heard that?"

"Not really. But this time, it's the truth. This is me, and as much as I want to-and believe me, I want to-this isn't something that I normally just do," I try to explain.

"And you think I do?" she asks, folding her arms across her chest, looking annoyed.

"That's not what I meant, I-"

"How long were you with Jessica before you guys did it?"

I feel myself flush. "Um… a while," I admit, afraid to look at her. I can't believe the conversation is starting to go down this road.

"What does that mean? I'm not asking for details, I just need to know what I'm dealing with, because quit honestly, Edward, I'm about to self combust here. I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. You make me feel these things that I've only ever read about, or heard other people talking about," she says, her voice rising as her arms flail in frustration at me.

"I get it that you're scared. So am I. How do you think I feel, having met this person who is just perfect for me, and knowing he's going to be leaving in a few days, and I might never…" Her voice trails off, and she shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. "See? I can't even think about you leaving. I can't imagine not waking up to you." Her eyes brim with unshed tears, and my heart aches knowing I'm the one who has made her feel this way. "I know it's only been a few days that we've been together, if that's what we are, but I knew you were different weeks ago when we started talking on the phone. I used to hang up and have this silly smile on my face for hours after our calls, and that was just us talking."

I nod, knowing exactly what she's talking about. Our conversations left an impression on me, as well.

"This week has been amazing for me, and I've just had the best night of my entire life, and if that's all I get, I'll be happy," she says passionately, her eyes searching mine. She sighs, taking another step back. "Maybe I've just read this whole thing the wrong way, and if you just want to be friends, that's okay, but you can't kiss me in the street the way you did and look at me the way you do and expect me not to want you."

My mind reels at her impassioned words, at the intensity and want in her eyes. No one has ever poured their heart out this way to me. "Isabella, it's not that simple."

"It _is_ that simple!" she practically shouts. "I can choose a million different places to be, right now. I could be back at the lodge, by myself, getting ready for another night in bed alone. I could be on another horrific date where some Neanderthal guy is all over me and looking at my ass all night." I furrow my brow, opening my mouth the protest, but she shoots me a look that silences that idea. "I could be sitting around the campfire with Jake and Dad. I could be listening to Aerosmith on my iPod. But I'm not doing any of those things. I'm here with you." She closes the distance between us, her hands clasping behind my neck. "This is where I want to be, and no matter what happens, I won't regret it, because I choose to live my life. I never want to look back and think about what if. I can't even regret all those bad break-ups and horrible relationships, because they led me to you."

I take a shaky breath in. "I don't want to hurt you, and I'm not… I don't have a whole lot of experience with this," I tell her.

"Is that really what you're worried about?"

"It's more than that," I admit, shifting against the door. "One of the reasons things didn't work out with Jessica and me is…" I shut my eyes. I can't believe I'm contemplating telling her this.

"Hey, it's just me. You don't have to tell me anything," she says softly, running her hands down my arms, and lacing her fingers with mine.

"I want to," I admit. After everything she has just said to me, I think I owe her an explanation at the very least of my trepidation in this area.

"Okay. Do you want to sit down?" she offers.

"No." I squeeze her hand, taking a deep breath. "Jessica said I was a less than adequate lover," I blurt out, peeking down at her nervously.

Her eyes widen, her mouth dropping open slightly as she leans back from me. "That's impossible. You're the most detailed, attentive, intense person I've ever met. Trust me; that's something you want in a lover," she states adamantly.

I feel the heat rise in my face. "She didn't think so." She shakes her head at me. "She always wanted…" I swallow audibly. "She was on the top," I say, my voice a whisper. "Every time, because she said it was faster for her and she wanted to get it over with." I shrug my shoulders. "It all should be about the woman, anyway." I stare at the ground, willing it to swallow me up.

"Edward." Her soft voice is barely audible. She trails her hands up my chest, cupping my face while my eyes slide shut. "What did I tell you earlier tonight?"

I open my eyes and see tears falling from hers. "You told me lots of things."

"About Jessica."

"That I should forget everything about that fuc… sorry, that relationship," I say, cringing slightly at my near slip of vulgarity.

"You _should_ forget everything," she says firmly, her eyes searching mine.

"Don't cry, please. It's not worth crying over."

She sniffs as I wipe her tears with my index finger. "She's an idiot, and it shouldn't be _all about the woman_. Who the fuck does she think she is? It's supposed to be about two people who want to be together, and not about someone's fucked up selfish ideas. You should get just as much out of it as the other person," she rants, her voice rising.

"It served a purpose. I got something out of it, I suppose."

She shakes her head at me, her eyes locked to mine. "If we ever get to that point, I want you to take your time, be as detailed as you want to be, and trust me, I definitely don't want to be on top. At least, not the first time." She quirks an eyebrow to me, my heart hammering. She turns from me, reaching down for her backpack and disappearing into the bathroom, leaving me to try to process what's just happened.

I lean against the door, feeling as though I may pass out. It's like I've just bared my soul to her. I'm utterly exhausted, and what's even more unbelievable, she's still here, just behind the door. She hasn't run fleeing.

I make my way to the bed, sitting on the edge, having no idea how I'm supposed to feel about all of this. I lean forward, resting my forehead in my hands. She said this was the best night of her life. How is that possible? How has someone this incredible not had hundreds of nights like this? What is it about tonight that is so special for her?

Raking my hands through my hair, I stand up, making my way to the window to gaze out at the majestic view. What happened to my plan for this vacation? There are so many unfinished items on the agenda; things I thought I wanted, things that I'm sure pale in comparison to what I've actually done.

Now, the agenda seems meaningless, unless I'm going to be with her, if she still wants to spend time with me, now that she's learned about my shortcomings. I shut my eyes, leaning against the frame of the window.

I feel her arms wrap around me from behind, her cheek pressed into my back. "What are you thinking about?" she murmurs.

"You." I place my hand over both of hers. "Always you."

"Well, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

I turn to face her, taking in her pajamas, and I use that term loosely. They consist of a pair of tattered, cotton, black shorts and a white tank top with a faded Rolling Stones logo.

I swallow audibly, wondering for a moment if she is in need of new pajamas, something more fitting for someone so incredibly beautiful. But then, I realize, this is her. Just like I am most comfortable in a tie and vest, this is her comfort zone.

"You're beautiful."

She rolls her eyes, laughing "Right… an old Stones shirt and some shorts. I'm a vision," she says sarcastically.

"That's exactly what you are."

"Why are you single, again?" she asks, cocking her head to the side.

"You know why," I mumble, adjusting my glasses.

"I don't believe it. Her loss, my gain."

I shift away from her, moving to my suitcase. "I should get, um, ready," I mumble.

"Want some help?"

My eyes widen as she joins me at the dresser, wetting her bottom lip before placing her fingers around the knot in my tie. "Isabella, I don't need—"

"Let me," she whispers, her fingers working on the knot, her eyes drifting from mine to the tie. She knits her brow together, concentrating intently. "Do you have this glued on here?"

I laugh, shaking my head at her. "It's a Windsor."

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" she asks, her focus clearly on the tie.

"It's just a type of knot." I keep my neck bent, watching her face twist and turn as she studies the tie, while I fall faster and harder with each passing moment.

"Ha! There," she exclaims triumphantly, releasing the knot and pulling the tie quickly from around my neck. "Maybe you can teach me to tie it, one day."

She holds the tie out to me, and I take it from her. "Okay."

I shuffle forward, slowly placing the tie around her neck, overtop of her hair. She bites down on her lip, looking up at me in anticipation. I swallow back my nerves and gently lift her hair so the tie sits properly around her neck. I can't resist letting my hand linger in the thickness of her hair, my eyes sliding shut as I feel it move between my fingers.

I bring my focus back to the tie and make a concentrated effort to try to ignore the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I clear my throat, pulling the wide end of the tie down her chest, grazing her tank top in the process. "You pull this side down, about twelve inches or so longer than the other side," I start, my voice cracking.

"Twelve inches, huh?" she asks, her voice soft.

I can't stop the smile that seems to want to take over my face. "Something like that," I confirm, my eyes finding hers before I refocus on the tie. "Um, then you cross the wide end over the narrow end, like this." I cross the tie over, hyper aware of the fact that she's not even looking at the tie; she's looking at me. "Bring the wide end around, up and through the loop. Then bring it behind the narrow end, up back through the loop again." My fingers brush against her collarbone as I struggle to stay on task. She's so soft, so incredibly enticing.

She shifts closer, invading my senses as I soldier on. "Then you make kind of a bridge across, bringing this part through the back and down through the knot in front."

"You've done this a few times," she remarks.

"Yes, but never like this." She hums, and I pull the perfect knot up so it sits just below her neck. "Then you adjust it to where you want it to sit. That's it." My fingers trace under the silk tie, around her neck, eliciting a shiver from her. "Are you cold?" I ask. I can barely hear my voice.

She just shakes her head slowly, taking a step back from me, her fingers tracing down the tie. "How does it look?" she asks rather seductively.

"Perfect," I answer without hesitation, and I mean it. Even though I'm sure that wearing a Calvin Klein tie over a ratty old Rolling Stones t-shirt breaks a number of fashion rules, it looks beautiful on her.

"Um, I really should get ready for bed," I manage to say, turning to my suitcase and unzipping it. I lift out my toiletry bag, feeling her move beside me. I know the best thing for me to do is take a few moments to compose myself. I feel like I'm spinning out of control, and that every tiny move she makes is pushing me closer and closer to losing it completely.

"Okay. I'll be here… when you're ready," she says, looking up at me hopefully.

I nod, pulling out a t-shirt and making my way to the bathroom. I close the door, leaning against it, overcome by emotion. I move to the sink, setting my toiletry bag and t-shirt on the counter beside her hairbrush.

Gripping the sink tightly, I stare back at my reflection in the mirror, my mind reeling at what everyone has said to me over the past few days.

"_It is that simple."_

I turn on the water, splashing my face before running my hands through my hair.

"_You're allowed to have fun."_

I watch a trickle of water drip from my hair down my cheek, soaking into the collar of my shirt.

"_Fate is calling, Edward. What are you going to do?"_

My eyes dart to Isabella's black lace bra, which sits precariously on the edge of the counter. _She's not wearing a bra._ Of course she's not; she's going to bed, with me.

"_Do I make you uncomfortable?"_

I hold a glass under the tap, filling it with cold water and drinking back the entire contents before placing it back on the counter.

"_Just be you. She won't be able to resist you."_

I shake my head, pulling out my toothbrush, squeezing a healthy amount of _Crest_ onto the bristles. My eyes fall to her bottle of _CK One_ on the vanity as I brush my teeth vigorously.

I finish brushing my teeth, cleaning out the sink and smiling at the memory of waking up in her bed, having breakfast on it, the look on her face when I agreed to join her for Jacob's bachelor party.

I stand in front of the mirror, unbuttoning my shirt and folding it carefully, before removing my slacks, inspecting them for wrinkles. I'll have to press them before wearing them again. I take off my t-shirt, pulling the fresh one over my head.

I turn back to the mirror, my fingers tracing my lips, feeling the burn where I finally touched them to hers.

"I never want to look back and think about what-if." Isabella's words play over and over in my head as I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door swiftly.

She's sitting with her back pressed against the headboard, her fingers slowly trailing up and down my tie. She smiles at me, her hair around her shoulders, highlighted in the muted glow from the lamp on the nightstand.

Her eyes widen as I slowly make my way to the bed, stopping when I reach her side. With my heart in my throat, I say the words I think we both have been waiting to hear.

"I'm ready."

Chapter end notes:

So, some insight into our Numberward's relationship with Jessica, a lesson in the classic Windsor knot, and a bold statement.

Thoughts?

Twitter: CarLemon

Thank you to those who have nominated this story in the Sunflower Awards. Voting is now open. Check out the nominees here:

thesunflowerawards(dot)blogspot(dot)com/p/voting(dot)html


	18. Chapter 18

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. March, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her new story: Washed Up. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story.

Well, Numberward says he's ready. Let's see what that means.

Come, join me.

_**Edward**_

Chapter 18

Her smile widens, my heart hammering in my chest, her eyes raking down me.

"Ready for what?" she asks, her teeth pulling at her lip.

"To not think about what if. To live my life. To be with you, for however long we might have." The words come tumbling out anxiously while I try to breathe normally. Her eyes widen, and I shift nervously, my hands automatically raking through my hair. "Unless you don't. Oh God, you don't want to. I'm sorry, I-"

My meltdown is obliterated as she leans up, fisting my t-shirt and pulling me towards her. I stumble forward while she eases back on the pillow, my palms bracing my impact on the pillow on either side of her head.

Her lips are on mine urgently, her hand slipping from my shirt up around my neck. The emotion overtakes me, and I answer the kiss as deeply as I can, stretching out beside her on the bed.

"I want to. If you do. Whatever you want," she murmurs against my lips.

I rest my forehead on hers, taking a shaky breath. "Isabella..."

The tips of her fingers gently brush my scalp, minimally calming my racing heart. "No pressure, okay?"

I scoff at her words. No pressure? Is she serious? I can't remember the last time I've felt this way, or if I've ever really have. "No. None at all." My voice is squeaking, barely registering to my ears. I'm not even sure if she can hear me.

She cups my face between her hands, and I can feel her eyes on me. I know she's waiting. She's waiting for me to make the next move. She's letting me set the pace. This would be so much easier if I actually thought I was capable of remotely satisfying her.

"Can we... go slow?" I ask nervously. She said she wanted slow. That seems like a good place to start.

"I'd like that." She runs her fingers down my cheek. "A lot," she adds.

"You would?" I open my eyes tentatively, her beautiful face so close to mine, closer than I ever could have hoped or dreamed of. That's what this seems like-a dream.

"Yeah, I would."

"If I'm not doing something you like, you need to tell me, and—"

She places her fingers over my lips. "No more doubting. You are a beautiful, caring, sexy as hell man." She lifts her fingers cautiously from my lips, her eyebrow arching before she traces her index finger lightly over my lips, her mouth dropping open.

That's where she wants me to start. Her lips. My hitched breathing fills the room while she keeps her eyes locked to mine and waits. She has to be the most patient person on the planet. Most people would not even bother to give me the time of day, and here she is, spending all this time, taking me to places I never even thought to dream about.

I push a wayward strand of her hair from her face, brushing her cheek in the process. She leans into my hand, shutting her eyes, a lazy smile on her face. She turns her head slightly, kissing my palm and looking up at me patiently.

I move my hand, lightly tracing her lips with my fingers, before leaning down and pressing mine to hers. She sighs softly, her hands traveling up my arms, around my shoulders, while I gently test my tongue against hers.

She tilts her head, the angle allowing me to taste her more deeply, our lips moving in a slow, erotic dance that I never want to see end. I feel my glasses drift down my nose, and I wish for once that I would have taken Rosalie's suggestion on laser eye surgery more seriously.

Before I can move to adjust my glasses, I feel her lift them gently from my face. I pull away from her lips reluctantly, watching as she reaches over to the nightstand and delicately places them beside the lamp.

"Is that okay?" she asks quietly.

I can only nod. Speech is once again elusive. My hand is automatically at her outstretched one, gently guiding it to rest over her head as my lips seek out hers. Our fingers lace, and she squeezes as I press her hand into the pillow.

My mouth moves from her lips, down the column of her neck, my senses overcome by how she tastes, and how she feels beneath me.

She arches towards me, while I trail my lips over the hollow of her collarbone, committing to memory how it feels when she shudders as I press my lips to her skin. I feel the hardness in my boxers reach a painful level, and I instinctively grind my hips against her.

She lets out a quick gasp, causing me to shift away from her, letting go of her hand as if it's on fire. "I'm sorry," I whisper next to her ear, terrified that I've pushed my luck as far as I can.

"God, don't stop, Edward. Holy fuck." Her arm, now free from my grasp, flops over her eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her legs shifting in my direction, while she tries to maintain contact with me.

I can't help the low chuckle that escapes me. I've never seen this kind of reaction before. It's fascinating, erotic, and highly gratifying. I didn't experience anything like this with Jess—I stop that thought before it can go any further. What kind of a person thinks of their past relationship at a time like this?

I shake my head and focus on gently tracing my tie that still sits around her neck, my fingers trailing down over her tank top. She lets out a soft giggle, moving her arm from across her eyes and opening them.

"I'm kind of ticklish," she says almost shyly.

I feel my smile widen. "Good to know," I manage. My shaking fingers trace the fraying bottom of her tank top, skimming the skin on her stomach. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," she breathes, her eyes focused on mine as I move back up the tie, my fingers lightly outlining her collarbone, behind her ear, until I thread them through her hair.

The skin on her arms erupts in goose bumps while she trembles ever so slightly. My fingers run the contours of her face, travelling down her nose and back to her mouth, my thumb running over her plump bottom lip.

My heart hammers harder and faster as I gently press my lips to hers, again, feeling her hands slide up under my t-shirt while they explore my back. I think I could kiss Isabella for the rest of my life and be happy. Jessica didn't like kissing. She didn't like my glasses getting in the way, and neither one of us ever thought to remove them.

I slide my tongue with hers deeply, resolved to keep thoughts of the past out of my head, because no matter what happens, this is infinitely better than anything I've experienced previously… even if I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

She tilts her head, pressing me closer, her leg hitching up as I struggle to not lose it completely. Okay, so it's not as if I don't have _any_ idea what I'm doing. I've read all the books, for educational purposes, of course. It's just that this… kissing _her_, feeling _her _this way is so all consuming and overpowering, I'm not sure what to do next.

"Hey," she says against my lips. "Where did you just go? You were with me, and then…" Her voice trails, her hands moving into my hair.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I murmur, my mouth skimming her neck, feeling her pulse thunder against my lips.

"Yes, you do." She tugs on my hair, urging me to look at her, and so I do. "Trust me. You know exactly what you're doing. Just be you. Just do what feels right."

I shake my head, lowering it to her shoulder. If I just did what feels right, I would have ground myself against her and likely ejaculated already. I shut my eyes and focus on going slow, remembering that she said being detailed and attentive was a good thing.

"You smell so good," I mutter, breathing in her intoxicating scent, my mouth moving against her skin while I slowly ease the strap of her tank top to the side.

Her breathing falters while I tentatively kiss the flesh on her shoulder, drifting to her neck and finally back to her lips, a new urgency between us. She pulls harder on my hair, grinding her hips against me, and I begin to lose the battle of maintaining my control. I can feel it slipping, and I am dangerously close to giving in to pure sensation and letting it take control. She bites down on my bottom lip, sweeping her tongue over it, a little moan escaping.

She's so soft, so warm, so inviting, and I kiss her back harder, my heart hammering. She presses me closer, her lips pulling back from mine. Her head sinks further into the pillow as she relaxes back, almost as if she's offering herself to me.

I kiss down the column of her neck, my fingers moving along the tie, slipping to the side, and coming to rest under her breast. The aching feeling that seems to grow by the second intensifies in my groin. I tentatively glide my hand up, ghosting over her breast, amazed I haven't passed out yet.

I swallow audibly, the sound extremely loud in the room, and watch as my hand gently cups her breast, marveling in the sight of her erect nipple pressed against her tank top. I circle it with my fingers, eliciting a sigh from her, along with a raspy, "More."

I take a shaky breath in, increasing the pressure ever so slightly, astonished that I'm able to produce a response like this. She sits up, and I lean back, watching as she lifts her top over her head, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. It's not a place where one should leave their clothes, but right now, I can't bring myself to care.

She sinks back onto the bed, and my breaths start coming faster, the visual beneath me, unlike any I could have ever imagined. Her hair, cascading over the crisp white linen pillow in virtual waves, her creamy skin, the look of pure want in her eyes, and her hand, slowly moving the tie—_my_ tie, up over her exposed breasts.

"Isabella, you… you're…" I shake my head, at a loss for words.

"I'm yours," she whispers, her eyes searching, wanting, waiting.

The weight of her words hangs in the air, and I'm lost. I'm so far gone, I can't imagine going back to where I was, to who I used to be before her. This is not a situation I could ever have thought of being in before.

"Touch me," she urges, her voice breathy.

I run my trembling fingers over the tie, trying to maintain some sort of decorum. I watch as her skin pebbles under my touch, soft and tempting; too tempting to resist, so I don't. I can't.

I lower my lips to her skin, kissing above her heart, running my thumbs over her nipples, shivering at the feeling. Her hands sink into my hair-something I'm starting to learn she greatly enjoys-and she gently coaxes me down.

My mouth slides eagerly over the swell of her breast, lingering on her nipple. I swirl my tongue, taking her nipple back into my mouth, feeling myself harden further against her. It's like I've been in the desert for days, and I'm tasting water for the first time. I can't get enough, and so, I move to her other breast, repeating the process.

She moans and mutters something I can't understand, urging me closer. I flatten my tongue over her nipple repeatedly, knowing I'm in dangerous territory with what I'm feeling. Her breath comes in struggled gasps, while I slowly, gently savour her.

"I had no idea… just no idea." I'm a mumbling mess, spiraling faster with each pass of my tongue to her skin.

"I want to see you," she mutters. I stop my movements, looking down at her questioningly, and she tugs on the hem of my t-shirt. "Take it off."

I hesitate. I'm sure she's going to be disappointed. I saw Riley. He's in much better shape than I am. Emmett's comment of women liking men with abs swirls in my head, and I'm immediately thrust back to reality.

"Please?" she adds.

"Isabella." I shut my eyes, feeling her lean up almost immediately, and before I can protest, her hands grip my t-shirt, raking it over my head. She drops it to the floor beside hers, and I stare down at it, trying to ignore the fact that everything on the floor is blurry without my glasses.

The heat rises in my face as I feel her eyes on me. Her hand cups my cheek, and she rests her forehead on mine before pulling back.

"You're beautiful," she says firmly.

I shake my head. "You don't have to say that." I dart my eyes back to the floor, trying to reel in the emotion.

She tilts her head so she's staring directly into my eyes. "I told you I'd never lie to you. You, Edward Cullen, are a beautiful man."

I let out an unsteady breath, staring back at her, afraid almost of the feelings coursing through me. "What am I going to do without you?"

"I'm not going anywhere," she says softly, her fingers gently trailing across my cheek.

"But I am."

"We can figure it out. I want to figure it out. I want you," she says, her lips searing to mine, while my brain tries to rationalize what she's saying.

She flattens her hand down my chest, her fingers trailing and pushing, becoming more desperate as our kiss deepens. I can't fight the urge to wrap my arm around her waist, bringing her closer to me, feeling skin on skin, her nipples hard against me.

My hand inches down to the small of her back, my fingers resting on the waistband of her shorts. She leans back, pulling me down with her, and I want her to. I want to drown in her. I am consumed by every touch, every breath, every kiss.

"Tell me you want to," she whispers, her mouth close to my ear. "Tell me you want to figure this out."

"More than anything," I murmur against her lips, my heart in my throat as I thrust my tongue into her mouth. I know it's a bold move, for me, anyway, but I'm certain my mind is no longer in control of this situation. I'm operating on instinct, on feeling alone, something I've never done before, and for the first time, I want to _feel_ everything.

I want to feel her under me. I want _her_ to feel me, and I want to give in to pure desire, for once. I can't control the grinding of my hips, the urgent, needy sounds escaping me. I can't control my hand as it glides down her side, over the magnificent swell of her breast, down to her hip, hitching under her leg. I can't control her tongue as it dances with mine, doing much more than teasing; it's teaching me what she wants, and what she needs.

Her hands move down my back, firmly sliding over my boxers and squeezing. I feel my erection, straining and painfully hard against her, and I shift slightly, hoping to calm it. I decide to focus elsewhere, pressing my lips against her stomach and moving down, committing her taste, her feel to memory.

She writhes beneath me while my fingers trace along the waistband of her shorts, and in an unprecedented move, I inch them down slowly, my breath catching when I see a tiny M shaped design on her hip.

I bolt up, moving to sit beside her, my heart hammering. "Wha… what is… is that a tattoo?" I ask like an idiot. _Of course_ it's a tattoo.

She leans up on her elbows, her chest heaving. "Yeah," she breathes. "It's the Virgo sign."

"Why… why would you… this is permanent," I stammer, tilting my head to study the black ink against her hip bone.

She giggles, cocking her head to the side. "That's kind of the point of tattoos."

"Can I… can I touch it?" I ask, still mesmerized by the contrast of it on her pale skin.

"I really wish you would," she says quietly.

I furrow my brow, resting my index finger on the tattoo and tracing the letter gently, a new wave of longing pulsing through me as she shivers, flopping back onto the bed. I trace the symbol over and over, her breathing matching the increasing pace of my fingers. It's like it's catching me in its spell, drawing me closer and closer.

I lower my head, pressing my lips against the tattoo, my tongue eagerly running over the pattern, skimming to her hip and sucking the flesh into my mouth. I've never experienced anything so erotic in my life.

She gasps, bowing off the bed, her hand gripping the sheet beneath her. "Don't stop. Oh God, Edward."

My senses are assaulted by her every move, my fingers gently lowering her shorts, my nose skimming over the symbol. Her hand frantically yanks at her shorts while she struggles to lower them down her legs.

Instinctively, I take over, gently slipping them off, hesitating with what I should do with them. They should be folded, and—My momentary thought is obliterated at the sight of Isabella, completely naked and laid out before me, with the exception of my tie. It's as if I'm in a trace while her hand deliberately moves to her most intimate place, her eyes locked to mine.

I lose my grip on the shorts, feeling the cotton slip from my fingers. I have no idea where they land. The room is literally spinning, and I find myself crawling back over her, my palm trailing up her smooth, toned leg, my mouth landing back at her tattoo.

She whimpers and grinds into me, the onslaught of sensations swirling and taking me higher as I feel my impending release. I try to think of something, anything to keep it at bay, but all I can see, all I can feel, is her.

Her hand moves between us, her palm landing on my boxers, finding me hard. I stop breathing for a moment, feeling the heat of her hand as it starts to move firmly and with purpose. I'm euphoric and embarrassed in equal measure.

"You are so fucking hot," she murmurs, her mouth against my chest.

I have no idea what's she talking about, or why finding me almost at the point of ejaculation is, in her words, hot. But as ever, speech isn't an option. Instead, my eyes slide shut, my fingers moving across her hip, over her taunt stomach and down.

I'm almost afraid to touch her here. Past experience tells me it isn't an action that is wanted, but her hand continues to move against me, bringing me some sort of courage that would otherwise be nonexistent.

I swallow back the lump in my throat and lower my fingers, the heat and wetness igniting me, my hips flexing into her hand of their own accord. I lean back, watching my fingers slide between us, dipping and teasing as her hand continues its own exhilarating exploration.

She grinds out a jumbled mess of words, her leg hitching higher over mine, causing my fingers to dive deeper. She groans, her hips flexing against mine, while I feel the last bit of control I have unraveling. Feeling her this way, soaking in her response, watching our hands move against each other is more than I can take.

"Isabella… I…" I'm panting, my heart ready to explode from my chest. I feel a glorious burn ignite under her touch, and I'm powerless to stop it. I feel a tightening against my fingers while they move inside her, her body stiffens, her head thrashing from side to side.

"God, your fingers. Holy fuck, Edwar…"

I watch her mouth drop open, her face flush with arousal. The sight before me brings me higher and higher, a rising crescendo, until finally, the last thread of composure I'm hanging onto unravels, and I release violently.

In between gasps for air, I can see the wetness seep through my boxers. She doesn't move her hand away; instead, she continues to run her palm over me. I feel the heat of embarrassment immediately and try to shift my torso away from her, burying my face into her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I mumble against her skin.

"Wha... what are you talking about?"

I lift my head, my eyes falling on her face as she smiles and hums. She turns her head to me, opening her eyes slowly, while I wait for her rejection.

"What's going on in here?" she asks, kissing my forehead, running her fingers down my cheek.

"I didn't mean to... I wasn't supposed... That shouldn't have happened so fast." Her hand moves down to my chest, stilling over my heart. "I can get you your own room, if you like," I add, staring at the tiny mole on her shoulder.

"What?" I feel her turn towards me on her side. "Do you want me to get my own room?" she asks, her voice unsure.

"No. I just thought-" I shake my head, shutting my eyes. "I know that couldn't have been very satisfying for you."

"Edward?" She kisses me slowly, a sweet tenderness in her touch. "It was wonderful and amazing, just like you."

I feel my eyes widen as I stare at her in disbelief. "But-" She silences my protest by kissing me again, her hand drifting down my chest and resting on my stomach.

"No buts," she says against my lips.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. There's nothing to be sorry for."

"I'm kind of..." I glance down, seeing the evidence of my quick release. "A mess," I admit. Could this be any more mortifying?

"No, you're not." She runs her fingers through my hair, and I shiver from her touch. "You need to stop thinking like that. It was perfect, because it was you, and the next time, it will be, too."

"The next time?" I squeak out, afraid to hope that she would even consider a next time.

She smirks and nods, her fingers dancing across the waistband of my boxers. "Yeah. The next time." She kisses me quickly, stilling her lips over mine. "And the next time." I feel myself smile against her mouth. "And the time after that. If you want to?"

"Of course I want to. I'm just... I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you."

She shakes her head. "Not possible."

I sigh, running my fingers through her hair. "Isabella..."

"You need to stop doubting yourself, okay?"

"I'm sorry. It's part of who I am. It comes from years of practice." I sink my face into her hair, breathing her in.

"Look at me." I lift my head from her shoulder, staring back at her, completely overwhelmed by how incredibly beautiful she is, by how she seems content to take things at a pace I'm sure no one else would. "I'm sorry," she says, kissing me softly. "I'm sorry for whatever happened to you, for every person who made you feel this way. I want to make it go away. Let me, please."

"I don't want to be your charity case." Her mouth drops open, a look of sadness washing over her. "I'm sorry, that was extremely rude after this, after tonight."

"That's not why I'm here. I'm here because I want to be with you, and I thought that's what you wanted, too," she says, pushing on my chest so I'm lying flat on the bed.

I brush a stray hair from her face. "I do want that. I'm just... I'm really scared."

"So am I." Her hands drifts back into my hair as she rests her head on my bare chest. I can feel everything; her breath on my skin, her fingers as they gently trace my torso, my erection that is once again impossibly hard and pressing into my earlier sticky release.

I really should get up and take a shower, but as she sighs and tries to tuck herself closer, that logical thought is obliterated.

"Should we, um, change the sheets?" I ask, my voice a whisper.

"No." It's a definitive answer, and while I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea, she clearly is. "Hmmm. I like going slow," she murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on my chest while I try to will the room to stop spinning out of control.

I've never felt this way. I didn't realize I was capable of feeling this way. And now, I lie here, with this amazing woman, naked and about to sleep on my bare chest, in a hotel room that I never expected to be in, after a night that can only be described as transcendent. If I _am_dreaming, I don't ever want to wake up.

Her breathing quickly deepens, and I pull the sheet and comforter up around us. I'm sure she must be exhausted. I know I am. Today has been a whirlwind of emotions, which I am only just starting to grasp. I am confident the impact of the last few days will last far past my short time here.

I turn my head, squinting to see the hazy amber numbers on the clock.

1:43—These numbers, this time, will be forever seared into my brain. I know that I have become irrevocably changed; that _she_ has changed me in ways I never thought possible.

A lifetime of composure. Twenty-eight years of living in structure and predictability. It's what I thought I wanted. I never knew… I never thought to imagine an alternative. I've stayed within my controlled comfort zone, never testing, never wanting to test, until now.

I try not to dwell on the fact that my time—_our_ time is short. I push that thought away and kiss the top of her head, letting my hand rest on her hip, and peacefully let the night take me.

Chapter end notes:

Well, now, quite the step for our Numberward.

Thoughts?

Twitter: CarLemon

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	19. Chapter 19

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. April, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her new story: Washed Up. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story.

Let's see what's next for our Numberward.

Come, join me.

_**Edward**_

Chapter 19

I slowly become aware that the enticingly warm body, which I unbelievably fell asleep beside last night, is no longer beside me. I am also fully aware of a stirring lower in the bed as the sheets are pulled back slowly from my body. I turn my head, squinting to see the numbers on the clock.

10:38- Another extremely late time for me to be rising, at least for- _What on earth?_ I feel, rather than see, a warm hand wrap around my already embarrassingly hard erection over my boxers. I thrust my body back, sitting up immediately and trying to rub the sleep from my eyes.

Isabella is lying on her stomach, smirking at me, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers.

"Good morning," she says, her voice lazy while her eyes drift down my exposed chest.

I fumble to try to pull the sheet up.

"Wha… What are you…?" I can't string a sentence together as she rises up on her hands and knees, crawling over top of me and looking very much like a predatory animal.

She bends her neck, her hair brushing across my chest, and gently presses her lips to mine. I can't stifle the groan as my lips mold to hers, my heart racing into a sprint, until I remember that I just woke up and have not yet brushed my teeth. I pull reluctantly away from her lips, and she rests her forehead against mine.

"I thought we might need a wake up call," she says.

"Are the phones not working?" I ask, turning to the phone on the nightstand.

She giggles, her fingers tracing down my chest. I feel my torso erupt with goose bumps while she kisses my neck.

"The phones are just fine, Edward," she says, looking up at me rather… seductively?

I swallow, my eyes drifting down her bare back, marveling at the soft curves of her body, and at how comfortable she seems to be without any clothes on. Well, I suppose she isn't entirely naked. She does still have my tie around her neck. I smile, running my fingers through my hair, completely amazed at how I got to be in this situation.

I feel myself blush while she moves lower in the bed, her lips placing soft kisses on my torso, doing nothing for the erection that is currently making itself known.

"Isabella…"

She hums a response, my eyes sliding shut at her touch, her mouth drifting lower to my hip.

"You'd look hot with a tattoo, right here," she murmurs, lightly nipping at the skin below my hip.

"Tattoos can cause inflammation and could provoke an allergic reaction," I breathe, squeezing my eyes shut while she pulls gently on my boxers.

I feel her smile against my hip. "How do you know that?" she asks, her hand stroking down my thigh.

"Jasper has one. I did some research before he got it."

"Of course you did."

And then, I feel it… her hand deliberately jerking my boxers down my legs, freeing my erection from its confines. She wraps her hand firmly around me, sliding down slowly. I grip the sheets beneath me, already feeling as if I'm on the edge.

"Isabella… I…"

"Shhh. Remember in the hot spring, when I said to just close your eyes and feel?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Just close your eyes." I feel her hand travel the length of my erection, her hair sweeping my thighs while she presses on my chest, coaxing me to lie down with her other hand. "And feel."

I comply, sinking back onto the bed, letting out a sharp gasp when her mouth closes around me.

"Stop!" My eyes fly open, and she looks up at me, furrowing her brow. "You shouldn't. I mean, I'd never expect you to… oh God," I stammer, my hand flying into my hair while my heart races.

She tilts her head to the side, her hand still around me, making it extremely difficult to focus on my protest.

"Let me guess. Jessica never did this, did she?" she asks.

"Um… she said it was disgusting and beneath her," I reply, my voice a whisper.

Isabella scowls, shaking her head. "Unbelievable," she grumbles. "Well, some people think that, I guess. I'm not one of them."

"You're not?" I squeak.

"No."

"You don't think it feels… wrong?"

"Wrong is definitely not the word I'd use." She wets her bottom lip. "I know a lot people think this is all about the guy. It's not. This is just as much about me. It's a massive turn on to see the um… reaction."

"It is?" My voice sounds higher than normal. I can't believe I'm having this conversation. I've entered an alternate universe. I'm sure of it.

She smiles, her hand still distracting my thought processes. "Yeah. Unless, of course, you have some disease I don't know about," she says lightheartedly.

"What? No! Of course not!"

She giggles, shaking her head at me. "I know. I'm just teasing." Her hand moves firmly down my erection, my breathing elevated. "Just feel. Think of it as another stage in taking it slow."

Taking it slow? Is she serious? If _this_ is taking it slow, I would hate to see what fast is. My grip on the sheets tightens ,and I hold my breath, watching as she flips her hair to one side, her lips closing around me.

"Oh my Lord," I murmur, overcome by the visual. I can feel myself trembling already, my entire body coiled as her mouth moves up and down, her tongue unbelievably swirling during the motion.

All rational thought leaves me, and I give myself over to the feeling, to the little humming sounds she is making, to my visceral reaction. This is like nothing I've ever experienced, and I'm certain it's not the act itself; it's her.

I know that I have entered extremely dangerous territory with the depth of the feelings I have for Isabella. The rational side of me, the side that has ruled my life for the past twenty-eight years, is screaming at me to stop. That this logically and statistically speaking has little chance of doing anything but hurting both of us in the end.

I have chosen-or at least my body has chosen- to ignore my rational side. I don't seem to have the ability to stop myself, even if I wanted to. And right now, I definitely don't want to.

As she continues to take me to heights I've never known, I wish that this would last longer. Any fragment of control that I did have is slipping away with every touch, every sweep of her hair against my leg, every uncontrollable groan that falls from my lips.

"Isabella… you should stop. I—" I can only moan as her mouth tightens around me. I hear the blood pulsing, echoing through my ears. My breath comes in gasps as I forcefully release, my hips flexing involuntarily, my hand clutching the sheets so tightly, it's actually painful.

"Good God," I mumble, by body sinking into the bed while I try to get control of my breathing before I actually pass out.

The room spins as she slowly releases her mouth, wiggling up beside me and resting her head on my chest. Her hand rests over my heart, and she kisses my neck, while I try to form a coherent thought.

"You okay?" she whispers, her naked body tucked next to me.

I stare up at the ceiling, nodding quickly.

"I'm just going to take a shower," she says, kissing my shoulder. "You could, um… join me?"

I swallow, turning my head to her. "Um… I need a minute. No, more than a minute, actually. I can't even… I just…" She smiles back at me, while I struggle to get my brain to function. "You go ahead."

"Okay. Maybe next time? You know, part of taking it slow?" She slips off the bed, and my mouth drops open while I watch her make her way to the bathroom naked and glorious, the intermittent light peeking in from between the curtains, highlighting her incredibly enticing frame.

She disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly, leaving me completely and utterly astounded.

I stare at the closed bathroom door, listening as the shower comes to life. She wants to take a shower with me. _With me._ Another inconceivable experience I never would have thought to imagine before this trip. Another first, much like this morning, last night, this whole vacation, really.

I let out a shaky breath, raking my hands through my hair while I fight the internal battle currently raging. I do need to shower... What on earth am I thinking? I can't possibly take a shower with her. It's just too intimate, too intense. I wouldn't even know where to start; although, she may be willing to assist.

I shut my eyes, feeling my erection stir, once more. I need a distraction. This cannot possibly be happening again so fast. I reach for my glasses on the nightstand, slipping them on before sitting up to search for my boxers. I have no idea where Isabella placed them when she took them off.

I stop my movements immediately at that thought.

_Isabella took my boxers off._

Five little words that are monumental in my world. Not that I know what _my world_ is anymore. I can't imagine what my life is going to be like when I return to Seattle.

I look at the door once again. She's so close, right behind that door, her hair most likely wet by now, her face perhaps turned up to the spray of the shower.

I groan involuntarily, my hand creeping down to my erection. I graze it tentatively, immediately regretting that decision, because it feels nothing like her touch did. I'm certain I'll never feel anything like that again.

I shut my eyes, stroking hesitantly down once. My eyes quickly fly open when I hear Isabella start singing at the top of her lungs.

_Take me down to the paradise city_

_Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty_

_Take _

_Me_

_Home_

She holds onto the last note, and I feel the smile overtake me while I listen to her continue to hum away, or howl is more like it. My self gratification pushed away, I laugh to myself and start the search for my boxers. I find them in a heap on the floor and pull them on.

Now, my t-shirt. Where did that end up?

Isabella's sporadic singing continues to drift to me, making the search for the shirt much more enjoyable. I lift up the comforter, narrowing my eyes as I run my hand under the sheets.

A loud and obnoxious banging on the door halts my search immediately. I would recognize that knock anywhere.

"Dude!" Emmett's voice is practically yelling through the door at me. "Are you okay?"

His incessant knocking continues, distracting me from my hunt for the t-shirt and interrupting my morning with Isabella.

"Edward?" Muffled voices creep to me from behind the door as I finally find my t-shirt beside her tank top on the floor. I yank it over my head, adjusting my glasses before stalking to the door and opening it with more force than I know I should.

Emmett and Jasper look at me questioningly, taking a step into the room. "Holy shit!" Emmett practically yells, while Jasper grins like a fool beside him, straining his neck to see into the room.

"Keep your voice down," I hiss, pushing the pair of them back into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind me.

Emmett's eyes travel the length of my body. "Does this mean… Dude, you totally got laid!" He holds his hand up for what I'm assuming is the customary high-five.

I just shake my head at him. "I did not, and don't be so crude."

"Ah, Edward?" I turn to look at Jasper, whose smirk is on full display. "You have your shirt on inside out and backwards."

"What? No I…" My voice trails as I look down quickly at my t-shirt, feeling the heat rise. "I can't wear my shirt backwards?"

"Well, you can, but you never would. So, I take it she enjoyed the symphony?" Jasper asks, lifting his eyebrows.

"As a matter of fact, she did."

"Hmm." Jasper chuckles under his breath, smirking.

"Did you two actually come to check up on me?" I ask, trying to ignore Jasper's not so subtle laughing.

"Yeah, man. We thought we'd see you downstairs at breakfast, and when you didn't show, I got worried," Emmett replies.

"You're concern is heartwarming, Emmett, but I am able to take care of myself."

"Looks like you've been taking care of someone else," he teases.

"Do you think it's possible for you to keep your vulgar comments to yourself when Isabella is present?" I ask pointedly.

"Protective and everything. You are so fucked, man," Emmett says, shaking his head.

I rake my fingers though my hair as they both stare at me in amusement. I feel the smile overtake me again. "It was an amazing evening. One I won't soon forget," I admit.

They exchange glances, and then Emmett pulls me into a massive bear hug. "Do you need condoms?" he asks, clearly highlighting the extreme dichotomy of his personality; warm and caring one minute, mind in the gutter the next.

I shift uncomfortably. "Um, we haven't... I mean, we're taking it slow," I mumble.

"So, do you need condoms?" He repeats his question seriously.

I shake my head. "Emmett, I-"

"Dude, it's good to be prepared. You of all people should appreciate that."

I huff, turning back to the door. "I'm going to go back inside and pretend this conversation never happened. We'll be downstairs in an hour or so, and then we can drive back to the lodge," I say definitively.

They chuckle behind me, while I turn the knob on the door, pushing forward and meeting resistance. Oh dear God. I've locked myself out of the room. I turn it again, willing it to open. I shut my eyes, shaking my head.

"No key?" Jasper asks, trying very hard to hide his amusement of my current predicament.

"Oh God."

"Just knock. She'll let you back in," Jasper urges.

"She's in the shower."

"So knock really loud."

"I don't want to disturb her."

"You have a hot woman naked in your hotel room—hell, in the _shower_. You _need_to disturb her," Emmett rants, pounding on the door to the point I think his fist is going to break through it. "Bella!"

"Emmett!" I hiss, trying to move his massive frame away from the door, which is virtually impossible.

"Bella!" he continues, hammering on the door.

"Emmett, please don't. I—"

My protest is halted as the door whips open, and I am treated to the sight of Isabella, gripping a white towel at her chest, her hair wet and dripping onto her exposed shoulders.

I swallow… extremely loudly, adjusting my glasses while she looks at the three of us in amusement.

"Hey, guys! Party in the hallway?" she asks, leaning against the frame of the door.

"I… um, Jasper and Emmett… um—"

Jasper claps me on the shoulder, squeezing in reassurance and ending my ridiculous attempt at an explanation. "We just came to see when you guys wanted to head out," Jasper says casually.

Isabella eyes my t-shirt curiously, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "I just need to throw on some clothes. Edward probably wants a shower, so like an hour or so?" she offers.

I watch the water drip from the ends of her hair, down over her collarbone, seeping into the towel. My heart in my throat while I stand transfixed before her.

"Sounds good." Emmett's voice is like an echo in my ears. I feel him coax me forward slightly, while Isabella holds the door open.

I shuffle into the room, my torso grazing against the towel that sits between me and perfection.

"We'll meet you downstairs," Isabella says, lacing her fingers with mine and gently pulling me further into the room. She closes the door, looking up at me questioningly. "Are you alright?"

I can only nod, and then my lips are on hers with more force than I intended, a sound I don't recognize escaping me as I surprise myself by pressing her against the door. My palms hit the door on either side of her head, and I lose myself in her.

She answers the kiss, her tongue eagerly searching out mine, her fingers tickling the hair at the nape of my neck, while I drown in the taste and the sensation that I can't seem to get enough of.

I can detect the lingering tang of _Crest _on her tongue, bringing me back to reality. I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, and I'm practically attacking her. I pull back reluctantly, both of our chests heaving. I take a step away from her reluctantly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… that was just-"

She places her fingers over my mouth. "Amazing. Don't apologize to me. I like it when you lose control. It's hot," she says, her voice low.

"Hot?" I furrow my brow, wondering what she's talking about.

"Yeah. You're hot. As in sexy. And intense."

"That's not the definition of hot, Isabella," I say.

She smirks, her fingers releasing their grip on my hair, travelling down to my chest. "How about this?" She reaches up on her toes and kisses me gently. "When we get back to Cooper Landing, we'll look up the definition of hot, and I'll prove to you that hot is exactly what you are to me."

"O… Okay?" It's an answer that sounds like a question. It's as if I lose my ability to function as a normal person when she's like this.

I watch her move from the door to the bed, adjusting the towel around her, her skin silken and wet.

I clear my throat. "Um, I'll just take a shower, if you're done in there, I mean."

She turns to me, nodding and looking incredibly enticing. "Yeah. I'm just going to get ready. Take your time."

I silently nod, collecting my suitcase from the dresser and seeking refuge in the bathroom. I shut the door, leaning against it, while I try to regain control of my senses. That, unfortunately, is virtually impossible. She is everywhere in here.

A subtle floral fragrance lingers in the air. My tie that was previously around her neck sits haphazardly, hanging off the corner of the vanity. And then, there's the shower, where she just was naked and wet under a pulsating spray.

My erection stirs, and I clench my eyes shut. Yes, a shower is in order. A very cold shower.

_BTN_

"Not much longer," I answer Emmett, who is starting to grate on everyone's nerves with his relentless asking of _are we there yet?_

"Like how much longer?" he presses.

"Sixteen."

"Minutes or miles?"

"Miles, Emmett. Sixteen miles."

Isabella squeezes my hand, looking at me apologetically. I smile back, relishing in the constant contact she seems to want to have with me; subtle touches and gentle squeezes. At one point, her hand fell to my thigh, and I almost pitched the SUV into the ditch.

"We'd be there a lot faster if you just let me drive," Emmett presses.

"We would be pulled over by the authorities if I let you drive, Mr. Lead Foot."

"Hey! I'm an awesome driver," he fires back at me.

"Says the man who has gotten four speeding tickets in the last eleven months." I smirk at him in the rearview mirror, and he sticks his tongue out at me. "I'm going the speed limit."

Emmett mumbles unintelligibly under his breath, while I continue along the _AK-1_. To be fair, we have only stopped once, and that was only because Alice had to go to the bathroom. I warned her about the massive size of the Diet Coke she inhaled, but she chose to ignore me.

She was not too pleased to discover there wasn't a convenient rest stop on our journey. Her scowl only intensified when Emmett told her it was important for her to get in touch with nature.

We've since spent the last hour being entertained by Jasper on the harmonica, and listening to Rosalie, Alice, and Isabella discuss plans for Leah's impending bachelorette party. The party appears to be highly focused on spa treatments and various "girlie drinks," as Emmett calls them. I am more than pleased that there has been no mention of strip clubs on the itinerary.

The party takes place tomorrow, which means I will have one less evening with Isabella. As selfish as it sounds, that thought does not sit well with me. I am becoming increasingly aware of how little time we actually have left. I know we need to have a conversation about what will happen once I have gone back to Seattle, if anything will happen.

Oh God! What if she doesn't want anything to happen? I feel the panic rise as I glance over at her, my brow furrowed. She is completely content and unaware of my momentary concern, her striped sock clad feet propped up on the dashboard, her eyes closed while she listens to Jasper's latest harmonica masterpiece.

I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself. It is quite possible that she will not want anything to do with me once I'm back in Seattle; although, she did mention the internet and phones last night when I first mentioned our looming departure.

I'm startled out of my self imposed evaluation by Rosalie's high pitched squeal.

"Stop the car, Edward!" she shrieks.

My heart jumps into the overdrive as I swerve to the gravel side of the road, pushing the SUV into park and turning in my seat.

"Are you alright?" I ask, scanning down her to see what the problem is. Rosalie never gets car sick, but perhaps the ride was too much for her.

"There's a bear!" she yells, practically crawling over Emmett's lap to get to the door. "Hurry, Emmett!"

I unfasten my seatbelt, rising out of the SUV and moving quickly to Isabella's side to open the door for her. She's out and standing on the gravel before I can get to the door.

"I was going to—"

"I know," she interrupts, reaching up to kiss me quickly. "You don't have to, though."

I shake my head. "Isabella, I—"

"This way!" Emmett's booming voice interrupts my train of thought, and I see him bolt over the ditch, sprinting full out into the open field.

"Emmett! Don't run after a bear!" I shout, moving to the edge of the ditch.

Rosalie follows him, her long blonde hair whipping behind her while she tries to catch up to him. She's fighting a losing battle, I'm afraid. Emmett is extremely fast.

Alice and Jasper follow suit, Jasper helping Alice over the ditch before they start moving through the field.

"I'll get the bear kit." I move to the back of the SUV, opening the trunk and rooting around for my suitcase.

Isabella laughs and leans against the back of the car. "You brought a bear kit?"

"Well, yes. Just in case, you know?" I push my glasses up as they travel down my nose while I hunt for my bag under all of Alice's.

"Quite the Boy Scout, aren't you?"

I look up at her, furrowing my brow. "I never was a Boy Scout," I clarify.

She giggles, shaking her head at me. "So, you remembered the bear kit, but didn't think to bring condoms. Good to know where your priorities are."

I stand up abruptly, my eyes widening. "Isabella, I would never assume to bring con… anything like that. I never in a million years would have thought that we would be, well, considering anything remotely in the vicinity of—"

"Edward!" Emmett's booming voice echoes across the field and I take a step back from the SUV, squinting to see him flailing his arms like a fool. "I saw it!"

He tears across the field towards me, vaulting over the ditch and slamming into me. He picks me up in a crushing hug before setting me back down. "I saw it! It was running towards the trees, and then it turned around and looked at me! It looked right at me and then took off into the woods," he rambles excitedly, almost hyperventilating.

"And you're not going to follow it?"

"It's pretty thick back in there, and I don't have that bear kit thing," he says.

"You stopped because of the bear kit?" I ask in disbelief.

"I remembered what you said about safety and shit, and fuck! I saw a bear, bro!" He's vibrating with energy. I can't remember seeing Emmett this excited about anything since he bought his motorbike; an extremely dangerous past time, which Rosalie unbelievably seems to enjoy. Actually, she called his motorbike hot, if memory serves.

I glance at Isabella, who is thoroughly enjoying Emmett's reaction to the bear. He picks her up and twirls her around in a circle, setting her back down gently. "This place is fucking awesome!" he roars, his voice bellowing down the empty highway.

Rosalie, Jasper, and Alice join us at the car, laughing while Emmett dances around beside the SUV.

"Rose! Did you see it?" he asks.

"Just its ass. It was a big one," she says, laughing.

"It was massive. I wouldn't want to piss it off," Jasper adds.

"Too bad we didn't get a picture," Alice says.

"You'll get one next time," Isabella offers. "When we go to Denali."

I turn to her, my smile widening. "You're going to come to Denali with us?"

"Is that okay?" she asks. "I thought maybe I could join you guys."

"Oh, you have to come," Alice says happily, more excited at that idea than she was to see the bear.

"Of course its okay. We'd love it," Jasper says when I struggle to answer. "Wouldn't we, Edward?" He slaps me on the back forcefully.

"Of course," I manage, staring down at her and wondering how on earth I got to be this lucky.

_BTN_

Seventeen. The number of minutes I've been pacing on my balcony, waiting for Isabella to finish checking in with Charlie and the rest of the staff. She's late. She said she would come by at five-thirty. The more time I spend worrying about why she's late, the slower the time seems to pass.

I keep thinking that I'm going to wake up, extremely alone and back in Seattle, and that this whole thing has been one fantastic dream.

I sink into the wooden Muskoka chair and take a deep breath, reveling in the crisp, clean Alaskan air. It's so different from the air in Seattle. _I'm_ so different from the person I was in Seattle.

Seattle Edward would not be sitting in a pair of jeans and a zip up on his balcony, waiting for an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Seattle Edward would still be in his vest and tie, preparing dinner for one in his empty house and getting ready to watch _Jeopardy._ I haven't watched it since I arrived. I miss _Jeopardy_. I miss the rush of adrenaline when the Daily Double appears.

I lean forward in the chair, my forehead in my hands. How can I possibly think the Daily Double is exciting after everything I've done this week? But I do. I do miss that show. I wonder if Isabella would be open to watching it with me. That's something I could introduce her to.

I shake my head. How pathetically lame does that sound? She's given me adventure after adventure, and I'm contemplating reciprocating by asking her to watch a game show.

I shut my eyes, taking another deep breath, my head rising when I hear a light creaking on the stairs. I open my eyes and see Isabella crouching in front of me, her hands sliding up my legs, a look of concern on her face.

"What's wrong?" she asks gently.

"You're late," I blurt out.

"I'm sorry. I got caught up with Dad, and then there was a mix up with a reservation. I got here as soon as I could."

I sigh, leaning back in the chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound rude. I was just worried."

"About what?" she asks.

"That you came to your senses and realized that I am quite possibly the most boring person on the planet."

"Hey." She boldly straddles my lap, taking my face between her hands. "How can you say stuff like that? I thought I made it perfectly clear how I feel about you."

I tentatively run my hands down to rest on the small of her back. "It just doesn't make sense to me," I admit quietly.

"Why not?"

I shake my head, not knowing how to make her understand how implausible this seems for me. "Because I _am_ boring, Isabella. I work, I teach accounting, and my idea of a nice evening is watching Jeopardy, listening to classical music, and going to bed at ten o'clock."

"So let's do that," she says firmly, her hands stroking my hair back.

"What?"

"Let's go back to my place. I'll make us dinner, and we'll watch Jeopardy. We can put on that Glenn guy's record, again."

I huff, shaking my head. "I'm sure that's not what you want to do tonight."

"And I'm sure you're wrong."

"_You_ want to watch Jeopardy?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I've watched it before. I'm not a total idiot," she fires back at me.

"I know you're not. I didn't mean to—"

Her lips are on mine, firmly and deliberately, as I feel relief wash through me. She's not running for the hills. She's still here, her body dangerously close to mine, her breasts pressed against me, making my mind wander.

She pulls back, resting her forehead on mine while her chest heaves.

"Isabella, I-"

She kisses me again, more forcefully, more urgently, her hips grinding down on me. I can't stop the groan that escapes, or my hands that grip her waist tighter. And then, she's gone from my lap and standing in front of me, holding her hand out.

"Come on. Tonight, we're staying in and watching _Jeopardy_," she says firmly.

Her eyes light up while she waits. I place my hand in hers, and she jerks me up and out of the chair, pulling me towards her.

"You ready?" she asks, her voice low as she swings our hands together.

"Yes. I think I am."

Chapter end notes:

Paradise City- Lyrics by Axl Rose, Izzy Stradlin, Duff McKagan, Slash, 1987. I know you were singing it.

Quite the morning and evening for our Numberward.

So, Jeopardy and dinner. Whatever will happen with that?

We are at the point in the story where my computer got fried in a power surge and I lost four chapters. As a result, I'm having to rewrite chapters for BRN, and chapters for my new story. As a result, next chapter may not be next weekend.

Lesson here is backup not only to an external hard drive (which was also fried in said power surge), but to a USB or other device as well.

Twitter: CarLemon


	20. Chapter 20

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. April, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her new story: Washed Up. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story.

Let's check in with Bella.

Come, join me.

_**Bella**_

Chapter 20

"Where do you keep your measuring cups?" Edward asks while he shifts nervously in front of the bank of cupboards in the kitchen.

I turn to him, furrowing my brow. "I can't remember the last time I used them."

He looks at me skeptically and then reaches up to the cupboard above him, tentatively opening it a crack and peeking inside.

I laugh, nudging him in the shoulder. "Are you afraid of my cupboard?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "I remember what happened the last time I opened one of the doors in your house."

"Yeah, well, even I wouldn't have a tennis racket in the kitchen cupboard."

He seems amused as he pulls the cupboard door open all the way open, and I turn back to the stove.

"No, but you would have this."

I turn to see him waving the remote for the DVD player at me.

"There is it! I've been looking for that for forever!"

He shakes his head, looking at me like I'm crazy. "Why is the remote control for your DVD player in the kitchen cupboard?" he asks, smiling.

I shrug, taking it from him and setting it on the counter. "I don't know. I probably came in here to make popcorn or something and left it there."

He laughs-one of his full bodied laughs that I need to hear more of- before turning his attention back to the cupboard.

"We don't need measuring cups, anyway," I tell him.

"The recipe calls for two cups of shredded parmesan," he says, the laughter still in his voice.

I stir the sauce in the pot, chuckling at him. "Just wing it."

He stops, turning to me and adjusting his glasses. "Just wing it?" he repeats. That's clearly a foreign concept to him.

"Yeah. Improvise. Two cups, one cup, four cups, who cares, really. It's pasta. You can't go wrong."

He nods, looking back at the cupboard before closing it firmly.

"You're right," he says ,as if it's a revelation or something.

"Of course I'm right," I tease, lifting the spoon from the sauce pot and holding it to his lips. "Taste this."

He blows gently, his breath fanning my face, and then tentatively takes the tip of the spoon into his mouth. His eyes widen as he swallows, his tongue darting between his lips.

"This is amazing!" he raves.

I smile at his reaction. "Mom's Alfredo sauce," I explain.

"A modified version, I'm assuming?"

"How did you guess?"

"I haven't noticed you writing down the changes," he says, peeking into the pot on the stove and wetting his lips.

"Next time," I answer, hyper aware of how close he is, of how everything feels different when I'm with him. How just him being here makes something as simple as preparing dinner infinitely better.

"Would you like me to set the table?" he asks, glancing at the kitchen table and frowning slightly.

I giggle when I see the disaster he's currently eyeing. My backpack from the trip to Anchorage is in the middle of the table where I tossed it when we came back, and the mail for the last few days is scattered in wayward piles. It's probably taking everything in him not to clean it all up.

"We can eat in the living room."

He glances towards the room, furrowing his brow before turning back to me. "We can?"

"Sure. I do it all the time, and besides, Jeopardy is coming on soon."

His eyes light up while he rakes his fingers through his hair. "As long as you're okay with it," he says quietly.

"I'm more than okay with it." I turn to the counter, waving an oven mitt at the wine bottle. "Pour us some wine?"

He nods, looking relieved that I've given him something else to do. "Of course."

I watch while he painstakingly studies the corkscrew before inserting it slowly into the cork and twisting it purposefully, his eyes narrowed, his tongue darting to the corner of his mouth as he concentrates. I think I could watch him all day and never get tired of the visual. He really has no idea how sinfully hot he is, which reminds me of the promise I made to him at the hotel earlier today.

_Yes__… the definition of hot. We need to get to that._

I chuckle to myself as the cork releases with ease, creating a resounding pop, which results in Edward jerking back slightly from the bottle. He gingerly pours the wine into the glasses on the counter, setting the bottle down and finally looking back at me.

I turn the elements off on the stove and then hold my hand out to him. "Come on, I want to show you something."

He places his hand in mine, looking down as our fingers intertwine and smiling. "Okay," he says warily, glancing back at the stove.

"It's okay. It'll still be here when we're done."

I pass him a wine glass with my free hand and then take the other glass before making my way to living room, pulling him gently. Letting go of his hand, I pass him the remote for the TV.

"I'm surprised this isn't in the fridge," he teases, taking it from me.

I laugh, smiling at his little comment. "I can't remember what channel Jeopardy is on. We only get like five channels. I'm sure you'll find it."

He puts his wine glass down on the coffee table and turns the remote over in his hands, as if he's studying it before he starts surfing the channels.

I take a generous sip of wine, setting the glass on one of the shelves on the bookcase, and scan the spines of the books.

"You know, you would find things a lot easier if you had some sort of system for your books," he says, his tone serious.

I smirk and continue to search my mini library. "A system, huh?"

"Yes. You could categorize them by genre or author, or— Oh! I found it. It's on in less than five minutes," he says excitedly.

"Aha!" I curl up on my toes, feeling my sweater ride up as I retrieve the thick, worn, red dictionary from the top shelf. "See? I found it. I don't need a system."

I grab my wine glass, turning back to Edward. He swallows audibly, the remote dangling from his hand, his eyes fixated on my sweater, before he registers the fact that I'm staring at him.

"See something that interests you?" I tease, tilting my head to the side.

"I wasn't… I didn't mean to..." His voice trails while he shifts nervously, his eyes clenching shut.

"It's okay, and I want you to look."

He takes a sharp breath in as I brush by him, moving to the couch. I sit down cross-legged, setting the wine glass on the coffee table and opening the dictionary.

"What are you doing?" he asks, placing the remote on the table.

"You'll see." I flip through the pages, smiling as I find the word. "Hot." I look up at him, and his mouth drops open before he starts laughing.

"Having a relatively high temperature. Kind of like what happens to me when you're in the room."

He shakes his head, the quirky smile I've grown to crave filling his face.

"Here's another definition; capable of giving a sensation of heat or of burning." I glance back at him, my eyes raking down the hoodie and jeans. I can tell he's not comfortable at all in what most would consider typical clothes to hang out in, but those jeans are tempting as hell. I turn my attention back to the book and continue reading. "As in, she was hot with fever." I stare up at him, nodding. "You know, they should just put a picture of you in this book."

"Isabella…"

"Hang on, I'm still reading." He laughs while I scan down the page, getting up from the couch and moving to him. "Oh, here's some synonyms." He adjusts his glasses, while I stop in front of him, cradling the book in one hand. "Fiery, torrid… oh… sultry." I lower the dictionary, my eyes finding his, dark and wanting. "Fuck the dictionary." I toss it back onto the couch, launching my lips to his.

His hands wrap gently around my waist, while mine twist into his hair urgently. He groans, deep and low, and somehow, we're backing towards the couch. My knees hit the cushions, and I sink down, pulling him with me.

His hands move to the back of the couch while he leans over me, his lips soft and tenderly caressing mine, my palms moving down his back. The simple act of kissing Edward is something I know I'll never get tired of. Like everything else seems to be with him, it's more intense and more meaningful.

His movements start slow and deliberate, as if he's testing himself, or me, or both, and I drink him in. Every movement, every little sound he makes, the feel of his torso so close and too far away at the same time.

I slide my hands from his hair to his back, pressing him forward, wanting to feel him closer. My heart races as he deepens the kiss, and-

"This is Jeopardy!" The TV blasts through the living room, and he pulls away, his head whipping to the screen. "Introducing today's contestants." I narrow my eyes at the TV, and he glances back at me, his eyes wide and hopeful.

I laugh and shake my head, cupping his cheek. "I'll bring in dinner."

He gives me a sheepish smile and stands up, pulling the hem of his hoodie down. "Are you sure?" he asks.

I nod, getting up from the couch. "Yes, but we will be continuing this later," I tease, kissing him quickly on the cheek.

I move to the kitchen, while the announcer drones on about the returning champion, some school teacher from Washington whose two day cash winnings total over fifty thousand dollars.

I grab two bowls from the cupboard, smirking to myself while I spoon fettuccine into them. I wonder if he'll notice that the bowls don't match.

"Oh, there are good categories tonight," he calls to me.

I laugh, while I grate the parmesan and sprinkle it over the noodles, thinking maybe it would actually taste better if I followed a recipe for once. I pad back to the living room with the bowls and two forks, finding him still standing, his eyes transfixed to the TV.

"What is pie?"he asks. I hand him the bowl of pasta and sit down, patting the space beside me. "Thank you. Are you sure this is okay?" His eyes flicker to me while he sits down. "I mean, dinner in the living room?"

"Definitely."

He seems to breathe a sigh of relief and shifts his focus firmly back to the TV. Apparently, Jeopardy is serious business for Edward. I twirl some of the pasta onto my fork and take a bite, watching him. He's seems to have slipped into some sort of concentrated zone, his brow furrowed. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

"Mmm. What is deferred expense?" he answers with his mouth full. He covers his mouth and swallows, looking at me apologetically. "Sorry. That was extremely rude to talk with my mouth full."

I chuckle. "It's okay. I don't mind. You really love this show, don't you?"

He nods, twirling the pasta around his fork. "I really love this, too. It's amazing."

"I'm glad you like it."

I sink back into the couch, enjoying just being here with him. It feels natural and comfortable, a stark contrast to the countless empty nights I've spent alone. And it's not just that I have someone to talk to and share an evening of Jeopardy with, it's that that someone is Edward.

He makes me feel warm and wanted, and he's genuine. It's not some act designed to try to get me in bed. I smile, taking another mouthful of pasta, thinking about the last twenty-four hours and how far we've come—how far Edward has come.

I know this has to be major for him. I can tell from his reaction last night and from what he's shared with me about his previous experience to date. I'd like to get this Jessica in a room and give her a piece of my mind for the shit she's put him through.

"Oh! It's the Daily Double!" Edward says excitedly, and I finally turn my attention to the screen, watching as Alex gives the clue.

"This Alaskan town was founded by prospectors in 1902 and named for a U.S. Vice President."

"What is Fairbanks?" I shout out.

He whips his head to me, his mouth dropping open. "You got the Daily Double," he says almost in disbelief.

"And here you thought I was just another pretty face," I tease.

"I…I didn't mean to-"

"Shhh! They're taking _Ends in FF_ for two hundred."

"It's a magic dragon," Alex says through the TV.

I hit the cushion between us. "Who is Puff!" I yell. His mouth drops open, and I nudge him in the arm. "You snooze you lose, Cullen. Gotta be quick on the buzzer."

"We don't have a buzzer," he complains, furrowing his brow.

I pat the couch, lifting my eyebrows. "The couch is the buzzer."

He looks down to the cushion, the worry lines in his forehead increasing. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously."

He shakes his head and laughs, taking another forkful of fettuccine and turning back to the show.

"Do you watch this every night at home?" I ask while the game marches on in the background.

He nods. "I try not to miss it, and if I'm going to, I record it." He gently taps the couch. "Who is Queen Elizabeth the second?"

I glance at the TV. I didn't even hear the question. I smile, cradling the bowl in my hands, and try to focus on the game. I'm not going to lie, it's extremely difficult.

_BTN_

"Do you want more?" I ask, taking Edward's bowl from him and rising up off the couch while a commercial break starts. He scrambles to his feet, and I shake my head at him. "You don't have to stand up when I do."

He smiles, shrugging his shoulders. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize all the time, either. Just be you."

"I _am _just being me. This is who I am," he mumbles, shifting nervously.

I set the bowls down, closing the space between us, placing my palm on his chest. "I know this you, its just that I'm not used it, you know? Guys opening doors and being—"

"Respectful?" he asks seriously.

"Yeah."

He tilts his head to the side, adjusting his glasses. "Would you rather I treat you poorly?"

"No. Of course not. I love the way you treat me."

He takes a quick breath in. "You… love it?"

My heart breaks into a sprint as I stare back at him, knowing I've gone past the point of no return with what I'm feeling. I know that this isn't just a simple infatuation. I can't imagine him leaving. I don't even want to go down that road, even though I know we have to.

"Yeah. I do." He shifts, his eyes skimming down to my lips, and it's suddenly way hotter in here. "So, did you want more?" I bend down to collect our bowls, taking a step back from him. He shakes his head slowly. "Dessert, then?"

His eyes grow wide, and the smile returns. "You have dessert?"

"I have some brownies in the freezer. I can, um… take them out," I suggest.

He wets his lips, and I struggle not to just attack him, right here in front of Jeopardy. _Focus on the brownies, Bella._ Edward and chocolate… kill me now.

"That sounds wonderful, if it's not too much trouble, of course," he says.

"It's not."

He nods, glancing back at the TV. "Do you want some help?" he asks.

"No. I'm good. I can handle brownies."

He laughs. "Okay. Would you have a sheet of paper and a pencil?"

"Yeah, probably. On the table, maybe?" I nod my head to the dining room table, and he narrows his eyes at it.

It is a disaster, much like the rest of my house. There's a bunch of envelopes still on there that he hasn't gone through yet, a stack of cooking magazines, and I think that's my old black hoodie I've been looking for hanging off the back of one of the chairs.

He makes his way to the table, scanning it with his brow furrowed.

"Why do you need a pencil and paper?" I ask, moving to the kitchen to drop the bowls in the sink.

"Starting after the commercial break, I'm keeping score," he calls to me.

I lean out of the kitchen, looking to the dining room table, my eyes falling to his ass as he reaches across the table and tugs on a pad of paper. Jesus Christ he's fucking hot.

"Keeping score?"

"Normally, I just keep track in my head," he says, turning from the table. "But you distract me."

I laugh, heading to the fridge. "Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Glad it's not just me," I mumble, taking the brownies out of the freezer and setting them on the counter.

"Isabella, what is all of this correspondence on the table?"

I make my way back to the couch with the bottle of wine, watching as he turns over one of the envelopes.

"I'm not sure. Probably nothing important. We can check it out later. Come here and have another drink." I motion for him to join me, and he sets the envelope back on the table. He retrieves the pad of paper and the pencil, smiling as he joins me.

He glances at the wine bottle nervously. "Alcohol and me don't mix very well," he says quietly, clutching the pad of paper to his chest.

"Did you want something else to drink? I can make one of my famous drinks?" I offer.

"No. I'm fine, but thank you. Dinner was amazing, and those brownies sound wonderful."

I smile, moving to stand in front of him. "So, it is true. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"You're already in my heart, Isabella," he says quickly.

I feel the heat rise in my face, and I cup his cheek. "You are the most amazing man."

"Welcome back!"

_Cock blocking Alex Trebek._

_BTN_

I've been trying to focus on the categories of the Double Jeopardy round while Edward keeps score, dutifully tallying our answers in perfect columns. Each time he gently taps the couch to answer a question, or rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration when I unbelievably beat him to our "buzzer," I feel myself falling a little deeper.

"I'll take _Jingle All The Way_ for four hundred."

I turn my attention back to the screen. Finally, something I may actually know, unlike _Russian Scientists_. Who comes up with these categories, anyway?

"Double your pleasure, double your fun with this gum," Alex says.

I hit the couch. "Doublemint!" I yell.

"You need to frame the answer in the form of a question," Edward says seriously, turning to look at me.

I smirk, trying to contain my laugh. "Oh, come on! You're winning by like a million dollars or something. You can give me that one."

His brow furrows deeper. "Isabella, the rules clearly state-"

I move across the couch, grabbing the pad of paper from his hands and tossing it to the couch. His eyes grow wide as I straddle him, sitting in his lap and slipping the pencil from his fingers. "Let's break the rules."

He swallows audibly, his mouth falling open. "I think I'm already doing that," he says quietly.

"Yeah?" I lean forward, my mouth at his ear. "Good."

He gently brushes my hair from my face, his thumb skimming over my cheek, sliding down to my neck and causing me to shiver.

"Are you cold?" he asks innocently.

I shake my head, and he furrows his brow.

"You shivered," he adds.

"From you."

"From me?"

I nod, and he smiles.

"I thought you said I was hot?" he asks.

"You are."

"But I make you shiver?"

"Because you're hot."

He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Isabella, that doesn't—"

I place the pencil over his lips, silencing his protest. "How does it feel when I touch you?" I ask, flattening my hand down his hoodie.

He adjusts his glasses, his eyes nervous behind them. "Like nothing I've ever felt before," he says quietly.

"For me, too."

He smiles, his eyes locking to mine. "Tell me we can make this work. When I go back to Seattle, I mean."

I nod, dropping the pencil and cupping his face between my hands. "We can. We'll call and email… and text, and I can fly in, and you can come back for Jake's wedding," I ramble on like an idiot.

"You want me to come back for Jacob's wedding?" he asks, looking hopeful.

I nod. "For that, for whatever, just come back. Please, Edward."

He nods. "Okay."

I feel the smile overtake my face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I want to. I want to come back. I want to be with you. I can't imagine…" He shakes his head, his eyes searching mine. "I can't imagine trying to live without you."

I nod a response, feeling the tears threatening.

He places his hand over mine and pulls it down, placing it over his heart. "You've made me realize what this is for. What I've been missing… and I never even knew I was."

I bite my lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Edward…"

"I thought I was happy in my life. I had no idea… just no idea that this was even a possibility for me. It's real, right? Tell me it's real, and that I'm not in some dream where I wake up alone and without you," he whispers.

I feel the tears fall, my lip quivering. "It's real. It's the realest thing I've ever felt."

He presses down my hand, and I feel his heart pound through his hoodie. "This is yours, now."

I sniff, bringing his hand to rest over my heart. "And this is yours," I manage.

"I promise to look after it," he says softly.

I nod, leaning forward, resting my forehead on his. "Me, too."

His hands stroke my hair as his lips find mine, softly moving, driving me completely insane. I grind into his lap, needing to get closer, needing to feel him. He groans, his hands moving down my back as I press my body into his.

"An interesting category. _Literary Erotica_," Alex says dryly, causing me to pull away from Edward's lips.

I stare down at him, his chest heaving, his eyes wide.

"We'll come back with the clue in a moment, players, and then you'll have thirty seconds to come up with your question."

I laugh as his mouth drops open, and he strains his neck to try to see the TV.

"Well, how much do you want to wager?" I ask, stretching over him to retrieve the pad of paper.

He takes a sharp breath in as I wiggle my way back to his lap. "Um… I don't know."

I lift an eyebrow to him. "You don't know?"

He clears his throat. "I need to think about that category. I wasn't expecting that."

"Isn't that half the fun of Jeopardy?" I ask, smirking.

He furrows his brow, looking confused. "What?"

"Not knowing what the categories will be?"

He smiles, nodding. "I guess so. I never really thought about it that way," he says.

"So, what will it be? How much are you betting?"

"Everything," he says firmly, without hesitation.

I lift my eyebrows to him. "You're betting everything on literary erotica?" I ask.

"Does that surprise you?" he asks, wetting his bottom lip.

"Well, yeah, kind of," I admit, smirking.

"I read… a lot."

I feel the heat rise in my face. "Is that so?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Well, then. I guess I'll just have to bet everything, too."

He smiles, his hands moving down my back. "And what do I get when I win?" he asks.

"Pretty damn sure of yourself, aren't you?" I tease.

I see a flash of panic cross his face, but it disappears quickly. "Actually, yes, I am," he says, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

I press my lips to his gently before pulling back.

"Well?" he prompts, his eyes flashing with intensity.

"Well what?" I tease.

"What do I get?" he questions.

I lace my fingers around the back of his neck, staring back at him. "Me."

Chapter end notes:

Ah yes, Jeopardy. I pulled those categories and answers from the actual show. Don't you just love research?

Have you figured out the pattern for Bella's chapters yet? Gold stars from Numberward for those of you who have.

Thoughts?

Twitter: CarLemon


	21. Chapter 21

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. June, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her new story: Washed Up. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story.

For those of you who didn't read any of the author notes or my messages on Twitter, my computer crashed, deleting several chapters of this and my other story, Wild Card. Rebuilding those chapters has been an extremely painful process. Thank you for your patience.

Let's check in with Edward.

Chapter 21

_**Edward**_

Five. The number of commercials that have buzzed in the background while I try to wrap my head around the category of Final Jeopardy.

Nineteen dollars and ninety-nine cents. The cost of a Snuggie, available for a limited time only, according to the voice-over on the television that I'm only vaguely aware of.

One incredible woman, currently sitting in my lap.

My breathing is elevated, her fingers gently playing with the hair at the back of my neck while I try to stay firmly grounded in reality. That is getting exceeding more difficult with each moment I spend with her.

I cannot fathom how someone like me came to be in this situation. The fact that I am eagerly awaiting Final Jeopardy is not new. The fact that I am awaiting it, with a breathtaking woman perched in my lap, who seems just as eager as I do however is.

"So, pretty damn sure of yourself on this particular category, Edward," she says, grinning and tilting her head to the side, her brown eyes playful.

I swallow, shifting slightly, feeling her move against me as I stare back at her. "I am." I nod.

She quirks an eyebrow. "Just how much literary erotica have you read?" she asks, smirking at me.

I adjust my glasses, feeling the familiar stir in my trousers. "A bit." Her smile grows wider. "For educational purposes only, of course," I amend quickly.

"Oh, of course," she says incredulously. "Educational purposes."

I feel my cheeks heat, and I dart my eyes to the television, wishing the sofa would somehow swallow me up.

"Sometimes, I watch porn," she states brazenly.

My eyes grow wide, my mouth dropping open as I turn my head to stare back at her.

"You know, for educational purposes only," she adds.

I shake my head slowly at her, tentatively running my hand up her back. "Do you, now?"

She nods, biting down on her lip, leaning forward, her lips ghosting over mine while her warm breath fans my face.

I feel my mouth go dry. "We should probably get ready to write our answers down," I murmur against her lips.

She pulls back slightly, nodding and reaching across to the cushion to the pad of paper. She rips off a piece, handing it to me, smirking.

"And something to write with?" I ask, my voice sounding higher than normal. "There's only one pencil."

She nods, pushing herself up from my lap and moving to the disaster on the dining room table. I make a mental note to see about the contents of the envelopes later, hoping there aren't additional invoices or notices from the taxation officials. We really do need to set the task to complete her taxes for last year.

I watch as she leans over the table, disrupting the pile of correspondence further and pulling out a pen, holding it in the air triumphantly, almost as if she's proud that she's found it.

My heart speeds faster while she keeps her eyes locked with mine and makes her way back to me, sinking down to my lap again, holding the pen out to me.

"Will this do?" she asks.

I nod, taking the pen from her, my body hyper aware of hers. "Yes, thank you."

Taking a deep breath, I boldly lean forward, gently brushing my lips against hers, feeling myself smile against them. This feeling, this desire to touch her, to be with her is equally foreign and addicting. It's like she's filling an empty place in my heart that I never knew was there.

She presses her lips against mine more firmly, adjusting her position on my lap, which only serves to urge me further. I drop the pen to the cushion, my hand moving up her cheek, into her hair, deepening the kiss.

"Welcome back." Alex's voice booms through the television as Bella huffs, pulling back and whipping her head to the screen.

I crane my neck around her, narrowing my eyes at the television, annoyed for the first time in my life at _Jeopardy._

"An interesting category," Alex starts. "Here's the clue. Sir Richard Burton translated this Hindu love manual into English around 1883. Thirty seconds. Good luck."

I smile, leaning back against the couch as the familiar music starts, staring at her while she furrows her brow at the screen.

"Who makes up these questions? Who would know the answer to that?" she asks, turning back to me.

I feel my smile grow wider, lifting my eyebrows to her.

"You know the answer, don't you?" she questions, smirking.

"Maybe." I fight back the smile that threatens to widen further.

Her furrowed brow releases, a brilliant smile filling her face. Her eyes dart from mine to my lips and back again before we both scramble to find our writing instruments.

I retrieve mine from the cushion, setting the paper on the arm rest, quickly scribbling the answer before turning the paper over to conceal it from her.

She giggles as she leans over the coffee table, her shirt rising up to reveal the creamy white skin on her back as she writes an answer, holding the paper against her chest once she's done.

I blink, trying to focus on the screen as the music finishes and Alex prompts the first contestant for an answer.

"You came up with what is the Kama Sutra," Alex states while I stare at Isabella, waiting as she turns her head back to the television. "Yes, indeed."

She mutters something under her breath before turning back to me, lifting her eyebrows. "So, let's see your answer," she urges.

I shake my head, grinning. "No, ladies first."

She giggles, turning the piece of paper to me and shrugging.

I smile as I read the words. "What is_ Playboy_?"

"I know, it's a stupid answer," she mumbles, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"No, it's not. You were on the right track. A few decades off for that particular publication, but still."

She smiles, leaning forward to cup my cheek with her hand, the warmth spreading through me. "Have you read it?"

"_Playboy_?" I ask, lifting my eyebrows. I can't believe I'm having this conversation.

She nods, leaning back, looking at me questioningly.

I push my glasses up my nose, staring down at my piece of paper before glancing back at her. "Emmett showed me a few of its… offerings when I was a teenager," I admit, feeling my cheeks heat.

"Oh, he did, did he?" she asks, trying to contain her amusement.

I nod. "Yes."

"And?" she prompts.

"And what?"

"What did you think? Did you like it?"

I shake my head firmly. "No."

She furrows her brow. "That was a fast answer. Just no?"

"The women in that magazine hold no interest for me."

She tilts her head to the side, studying me. "Why not?"

"You would like reasons as to why I don't like _Playboy_?"

"I'm just curious," she states, shrugging as she laces her fingers with mine.

"I know it's an extremely successful magazine, a franchise even, but it just seems wrong to me to put women on display like that. I know that the women do so willingly, but I think there's something to be said for a bit of modesty. It's much more attractive to me."

She leans forward abruptly, kissing me deeply, her hand moving into my hair. "You're an incredible man," she whispers, staring at me intensely.

I offer a half smile, unable to utter a response.

"So, let's see your answer," she urges, turning away from me to set her own paper on the coffee table.

I turn the piece of paper around, watching as her smile widens.

"I take it you've read it?" she asks.

I nod.

"For educational purposes?" she asks playfully.

I nod again.

"And did you like it? I mean content wise?"

"It was… enlightening."

"Enlightening?" she asks, giggling slightly.

"Yes."

"Hmm. Okay. We'll leave it at enlightening." She leans forward, her hair falling against my cheek. "So, as the winner of this particular _Jeopardy_ round, I do believe you still have to claim your prize."

"My prize?"

She nods. "Me."

"Isabella…"

"How do you want me?" she teases, adjusting her position in my lap. She stares back at me, waiting as the panic starts to spike.

"Isabella, I don't… that's not… I want you as you are, here with me. Just being together like this. It's more than I could have ever imagined to dream of."

She smiles, her fingers tightening around mine. "Edward?"

My heart pounds harder. "Yes?"

She extracts herself from my lap, standing to hold a hand out. "Take me upstairs."

My heart is in my throat, my mouth dry, my brain lacking the ability to function. "Isab-"

"We can just be together, like this." She pulls gently on my arm, and I rise from the sofa, lacing our fingers together. "Just you and me, and whatever we want to do." I shut my eyes, taking a shaky breath in, feeling her torso press against mine. "Open your eyes," she whispers.

I comply, staring down into hers.

"We don't have to do anything. We can just be together, because, Edward, you're more than I could ever imagine to dream of, too."

I squeeze her fingers before reaching down with my free hand to pick up the remote, switching off the television and setting it back down on the coffee table. She starts to walk backwards out of the living room, and I slowly follow, almost in a trance, our eyes locked as we move to the stairs.

She stops abruptly in the hallway, smiling up at me, glancing quickly into the kitchen. "I almost forgot about the brownies," she says, her voice throaty.

I swallow, nodding, my heart practically leaping out of my chest. "Yes, of course. It would be almost criminal to leave those."

She giggles, stepping into the kitchen, keeping her hand in mine as we reach the counter. My eyes widen at the glass pan of brownies, iced with dark chocolate no less, that tempt me.

Isabella lets go of my fingers, moving to one of the drawers and rifling around in it aimlessly while I take in the disaster of the kitchen. The pots from the pasta and sauce still sit waywardly on the back elements of the stove, a spoon randomly tossed into the sink. A cheese grater and remnants of parmesan scatter on the counter. I take a deep breath, looking up to the ceiling and fighting the urge to rid the kitchen of its utter chaos.

"Ah ha!" Isabella's excited voice redirects my attention, and I glance down at her, smiling as she holds up a tarnished knife that looks to be well past its prime.

"Mom used this to cut brownies every time she made them. It just isn't the same if you use another knife," she says, smiling as she moves in front of the brownies. She looks up at me shyly, shaking her head. "That probably sounds crazy, right?"

I smile at her, my heart warming at her words. "No. Not at all. It reminds you of your mother. I think it's wonderful that you still have it."

Her cheeks flush as she turns her attention back to the brownies, gingerly cutting into them. I watch in fascination as her brow furrows in concentration, a wayward strand of hair falling in front of her face. She blows it back to no avail as it falls forward again. I chuckle quietly, smiling as I wait beside her.

"There," she says, standing back and nodding before turning to me. "Ready for the best brownies ever?"

"Yes, I am."

She smiles, placing the knife gently into the sink before moving to retrieve a fork from the drawer, returning to the counter.

She sinks the fork into the icing, collecting a generous portion of the brownie on it before bringing it to my lips.

"No plates?" I ask, wetting my lips.

She shakes her head. "No. Mom's brownies are meant to be eaten straight out of the pan."

I nod, glancing down at the fork.

"Open," she urges, lifting an eyebrow.

I smile, part my lips, and close them around the fork, my mouth exploding with the decadent taste, my eyes closing as I savor the chocolate, chewing slowly.

"Well?" she asks, my eyes flying open.

"It's so good," I mumble, covering my mouth with my hand before swallowing.

"I know!" she exclaims, dipping the fork back into the pan, before wrapping her lips around it, a little moan escaping that does nothing for my attempt to maintain control. "Damn, that's good."

She collects another sampling, once again, holding the fork to my lips, and I eagerly taste, my tongue sweeping over my lips to catch any wayward crumbs. She watches intently, shaking her head minutely, before cutting into the brownies again.

I place my hand over hers, gently easing the fork from her fingers, cutting into the chocolate, bringing the fork to her mouth. The corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly before she wraps her lips around the fork, her eyes never leaving mine.

My heart pounds in my chest. It's such an innocent movement that elicits a visceral response, and before I can stop myself, the fork hits the floor and my lips are on hers, more forcefully than I know they should they be.

Her fingers are twisted in my hair almost immediately, as if she's holding me to her, not wanting to let go.

A low moan escapes her lips, awakening something deep inside, and I boldly take a step towards her, my hand sliding around her waist, my torso pressed against hers.

I feel her tongue seek out mine urgently, her lips parting further, my free hand moving around her neck and into the thickness of her hair. I am awash with emotion, with the feel of her body against mine, with the delectable mix of rich chocolate and Isabella.

My glasses drift down my nose as I bend my neck further in an effort to deepen the kiss, to try to convey emotions which I simply don't understand. I only know I don't want to stop. For the first time in my life, I am giving in to feeling, allowing it to guide me. The logical side of me, the one usually in control, has decided to disappear.

Her fingers gently massage my scalp as she answers my intensity, pulling me firmly towards her. I trail my hand from her waist up her back, pressing forward, until I feel her come in contact with the counter. I pull back abruptly, my chest heaving, readjusting my glasses.

"I'm sorry. That was just—"

"Hot," she breathes, wetting her lips while she stares back at me with an almost feral intensity.

"Hot?" I manage.

"Should we go through the definition again?" she teases.

"But… I pushed you against the counter." I shake my head, taking a much needed cleansing breath.

"Do you hear me complaining?" she asks, closing the distance between us, her hand flattening up my shirt to rest over my heart.

I swallow audibly, shaking my head slowly in response, unable to break away from her stare.

"Edward?"

"Ye... yes?"

"Tell me what you want."

"You." The words fall from lips in a whisper, my legs shaking under me. I'm not sure how I'm managing to stay upright.

She slides her hand from my heart, up my neck to cup my cheek. "I'm yours, Edward."

"Mine?"

She nods, her hand slipping down my arm, lacing her fingers firmly with mine. I stare down at our intertwined hands, and she squeezes gently, bringing me back to the first time she did so. It's a silent encouragement, and with my own hand shaking, I lift hers to my lips, kissing the back.

She smiles softly, waiting it seems, the silence drifting between us while I feel the weight of the moment on me. I know that this is a turning point for our relationship; it's a turning point for me. And with my heart in my throat, I take a step away from the counter, gently coaxing her with me.

"Is my pink toothbrush still upstairs?"

Her smile widens in amusement as she nods slowly. "Yes," she says, her voice a whisper.

I return her smile, taking another step from the counter, my eyes locked to hers while I move with purpose to the stairs. I look up to the second floor, to the warm glow filtering from her room, and without hesitation, I lead her slowly up.

No words are spoken as we take the nine stairs to the top. I am both terrified and flooded with anticipation as I stop in front of her room. I look back over my shoulder, finding her staring up at me expectantly.

I take a deep breath and step into her room, immediately surrounded by everything that is Isabella. The fragrance, the chaotic mess that sits strewn on her dresser, clothes dangling from the edge of the bed, pictures of her family in mismatching frames on the walls.

I turn to her, keeping my fingers tightly laced with hers. "Would you like to get ready for bed first?" I ask.

She smiles and nods, releasing my hand and cupping my cheek. "I won't be long."

I nod and watch her disappear behind the bathroom door, sitting on the edge of the bed once the door is closed, my forehead in my hands as I try not to pass out.

I concentrate on steadying my breathing. To her own admission, nothing has to happen. I look up at the closed bathroom door, hearing the water running in the sink. The trouble is, I don't want nothing to happen. For the first time, I want something. I want her.

I turn my head from the bathroom door, catching my reflection in the mirror on her dresser. I stand and move slowly to it, trying to ignore the fact that it needs a good Windexing, and instead, focusing on the face staring back at me.

I run my hand through my hair, removing my glasses, squinting and leaning forward to study the reflection. What does she see in me? Why has she taken the time to try to know me? What does she hope—

That thought is silenced as the door to the bathroom clicks open. I slip my glasses on, moving away from the dresser and flatten my hands down my shirt nervously as she emerges, her hair cascading down around her shoulders, smiling as she moves to me.

My eyes drink in the tiny black cotton sleep shorts and an unmatched green, worn t-shirt which clings to her body in a way that is all too enticing.

"Your turn," she says quietly.

"Yes, of course." My heart pounds so hard in my chest, I'm sure she must be able to hear it.

Somehow, I remember how to move and shuffle my way into the bathroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it as I take a series of shaky breaths. My eyes fall to the vanity and my pink toothbrush which sits on the counter beside the tube of Cinnamon Rush Crest.

I push off from the door and move in front of the sink, turning on the tap and splashing cool water on my face in hopes to prevent myself from passing out altogether. I grip the sink and lift my head to the reflection before methodically reaching for the toothbrush and the Crest, forcing out a dollop onto the bristles and brushing vigorously.

The taste explodes in my mouth, and I end up swallowing a bit of the paste in my rush, coughing slightly before regaining control and rinsing my mouth thoroughly.

I run the water over the brush, cleaning it before setting it back down on the vanity. I see the open bottle of Gummie bear vitamins, beside the liquid soap dispenser, and I fish out two red ones, chewing them up slowly.

I twist the cap back on the bottle, setting it down in the spot that it was and set to task on unbuttoning my shirt. Once removed, I fold it carefully, leaving it on the corner of the vanity. I unbuckle my belt and button on my trousers, slipping them off and folding them slowly, placing them on top of the shirt.

Gripping the counter, I balance on one leg, removing one sock and then the other, rolling them up and placing them under the trousers.

Staring in the mirror, I adjust my glasses. Edward Cullen-Grey Hanes t-shirt, grey boxer briefs… generic and hers.

My heart swells, thundering in my chest as I turn from the mirror and grip the knob on the door, opening it slowly and peering out into the bedroom.

I turn off the light and take a tentative step out, gently closing the door behind me, finding Isabella looking out the open window into the night, her face illuminated by the hazy moon.

I take another step forward, the floor boards creaking under my weight, causing her to turn her head to me. She smiles, waving her arm, an indication to join her.

"Come see this. It's beautiful," she says, smiling and turning back to the window.

"Yes. It most certainly is," I manage, staring at her before crossing the room slowly to stand behind her.

I brush her hair from her neck, leaning down, pressing my lips against her skin. She arches back, her head falling to my shoulder, her skin erupting in goose bumps.

"Are you chilled?" I ask, my voice a whisper.

"No."

She reaches back with her hand, pulling my arm around her waist and resting her hand over mine.

"Do you look at the moon at night when you're in Seattle?" she asks quietly.

I place a soft kiss on her neck and raise my head, seeing the almost full moon, hanging low against the blackened sky.

"Sometimes," I answer against her ear.

She turns to me, her palms flattening against my chest.

"Look at it when you go home. I'll look at it, too… every night. Well, the nights I can see it, and it will be like we're together," she says, staring up at me.

I slide my arm around her waist, tightening my grip around her as I nod slowly. "Okay, but right now, we have tonight, and the last thing I want to do is talk about me going home."

She slips her hands up around my neck, her fingers playing with my hair. "Really?"

I boldly bend my neck, gently brushing my lips over hers, my hand pressed against her back as I murmur, "Really."

Chapter end notes:

Really? *smirks*

Thanks to Buffbronze who has started a Twilighted thread for this story. Much love:

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BTN has been nominated in the Shimmer Awards. Many thanks to those who nominated. Voting is now open. Check out all the nominees here:

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Twitter: CarLemon

Next update-hopefully 2 weeks.


	22. Chapter 22

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. June, 2011.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta __xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her latest story: Washed Up. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story.

Let's check in with Edward

_**Edward**_

Chapter 22

Isabella's hand sinks feverishly into my hair, her lips on mine with urgency, the force of her tiny body sending me stumbling back slightly. I right myself as the back of my knees hit the side of the bed, and in a bold move, I hold her against me, sinking down to lie back onto the comforter.

I slide my hand tentatively up her back as she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently before sliding her tongue to meet mine.

I cannot prevent the satisfied groan that escapes from deep within my chest. Kissing Isabella is a transcendent experience, one which I cannot compare to anything in my life thus far. So warm and soft, her breath fanning my skin, pushing me to want more.

She hitches her leg higher on mine as I feel the warmth from her body radiate over me, my hand moving to the back of her neck, holding her to me. I deepen the kiss, savoring the unique blend of lingering Cinnamon Rush Crest and Isabella.

Her lips skim away from mine, across my jaw, down my neck as I flatten my hand over her t-shirt to the small of her back, my fingers resting on the waistband of her sleep shorts.

She shivers slightly, lifting her head, staring up at me, her gaze heated.

"Are you chilled? The window is open," I breathe, turning my head to the screen.

She smiles, trailing her index finger down my cheek. "No. Not at all. I just love the way you touch me."

I swallow audibly, feeling her adjust her hips against mine. "You do?" I manage.

She nods slowly, her eyes trained on mine, sweeping her finger across my lips. "It's gentle." She places a kiss on my chin. "And slow." Her mouth trails down my Adam's apple, which bobs under her lips.

"And that's good?" I ask, adjusting my glasses as they start to fog.

She grins, lifting my Hanes t-shirt slowly, kissing up my stomach. "Mhmm. That's very, very good, Edward."

"Okay… slow is good." I take a shaky breath in, feeling her lift my t-shirt further, my heart hammering.

Trailing her tongue over my chest, she bites down momentarily, my body flinching slightly at the sensation. She snaps her head up quickly, gauging my reaction. "Too hard?"

I shake my head quickly, finding it hard to form any semblance of a coherent sentence. "No," I squeak out.

"Hmmm." She quips an eyebrow, her tongue sliding across my chest before biting down again, sucking the flesh between her teeth slightly as I grip the comforter beneath me. "How does that feel?" she asks quietly, slowly skimming her nose up my neck.

I clench my eyes shut. Does she actually want me to answer? How can I when a thousand words would never be enough to describe how this incredible woman makes me feel.

"Perfect." It's the only response I can muster, turning my head, kissing her slowly, tentatively mingling my tongue with hers.

She answers the kiss, her fingers fisting in my hair, something she clearly enjoys, as do I. I skim my hand across her back, slowly moving it lower, my breathing ragged as I cautiously feel the contours of her bottom.

She arches towards me, the friction teasing my erection further, and I squeeze my fingers against the fabric of her shorts, desperate to feel her. She slips her hand between us, palming me over my boxers, while I try in vain not to grind against her.

"Edward," she mumbles against my lips. I remove my hand from her shorts immediately, lying still beneath her, afraid that perhaps I have overstepped. "Don't stop." She kisses me hard, her lips moving with purpose on mine before she sits up, her legs straddling my waist, slowly lifting her t-shirt over her head. She drops the shirt dramatically, her hair cascading in waves around her shoulders.

I watch as the shirt floats to the floor before looking back at her, her creamy skin calling to me, and I answer, leaning up, kissing her gently, my hand resting on the side of her neck.

She breaks the kiss, her hand moving over mine, slowly lowering it down her chest. "Touch me, Edward."

She removes her hand from over top of mine, resting it behind her on my leg, her breasts tempting me, and I cannot stop myself.

I lightly ghost my fingertips over the swell of one breast, watching in fascination as the nipple hardens between my fingers. She rolls her head back, which I take as a positive sign, and I gently flatten my tongue across the nipple, closing my mouth around it, the sensation making me want more.

Her hand flies into my hair, coaxing me further forward while I slowly circle my tongue, amazed at her reaction.

"Fuck, that feels so…" Her voice trails as I tug on her nipple with my teeth, my mouth moving to the other, repeating the pattern while her fingers tighten in my hair.

I slide my free hand over her hip, feeling her rock against me, unable to control the impulse to lift my own hips to hers. All rational thought leaves me, and I boldly turn to the side, coaxing her back onto the bed.

Her leg slides over my hip as I hover over her, my lips on her gently. My glasses start to drift down my nose, and she reaches up, carefully pulling them from my face, reaching over to set them on the nightstand.

"Is this okay?" she asks, taking my face between her hands.

I nod a response, and she traces her fingertips gently across my temples, down my cheeks. "You look incredibly sexy, right now," she breathes, her mouth under my ear.

"I do?"

She nods, nipping at my lower lip, her hips lifting to touch mine. "Mhmm, but then again, you always do."

I shake my head at her words, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

She furrows her brow, leaning back on the pillow, staring up at me. "Trust me," she says firmly.

My heart races harder at those two simple words which mean so much, and I instinctively kiss her, giving myself over to the feeling, letting it guide my actions. It's liberating, invigorating, terrifying, and I don't think I could stop myself, even if I wanted to.

I feel her hands slip from my face, down my neck, over my shoulders, her blunt nails lightly scraping down my t-shirt, until she grabs the hem, tugging it.

I lean up as she lifts it over my head, throwing it to the floor, my eyes widening for a second as my Hanes t-shirt lays haphazardly in a heap beside the bed.

That concern is quickly obliterated as she flattens her palms down my exposed back, dipping her fingers under the waistband of my boxers. I had no idea that a simple touch could elicit such a raw and needy response. The deep groan that escapes me is foreign and bordering on carnal as I eagerly press my lips to hers, desperate to feel all of her.

Her fingers drift beneath my boxers to cup my behind, urging me closer, while I kiss down her neck, fully aware that my breath is staggered against her warm skin.

She arches towards me, her neck presented in an offering that I eagerly taste. My lips move slowly and with purpose down to her collarbone as my erection strains against the confines of my boxers.

"God," she breathes, her hands working to tug at the fabric of my boxers.

Despite the urgent feel to her movements, I take my time, my mouth eagerly moving over the swell of one breast, then the other, her breathing starting to slowly pick up.

I blow against a nipple, watching as it pebbles before circling my tongue over it, my fingers gently tracing the other. Her own fingers tighten in my hair, while I slowly slip down in the bed, my tongue tracing the tattoo on her hip.

Something between a giggle and a breathy moan escapes her, and I raise my eyes to hers. "Ticklish," she says.

"Oh, I remember," I reply, my fingers joining my tongue below her hip.

"Edward, please you're killing me," she mumbles, stopping me in my tracks immediately.

I lean back abruptly. "I'm sorry. Are you hurt?" I ask, looking up at her anxiously. "You said I was killing you…"

She sits up, chuckling, shaking her head. "In a good way."

"Oh… so, I should continue?"

She nods quickly, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth. "Fuck, yes."

"Okay, then," I murmur, gently tracing around the band of her sleep shorts, easing them down her thighs, her flesh illuminated in the path of the moon through the window. "You're an incredibly beautiful woman, Isabella."

She stares back at me, her dark eyes wanting, and I can take no more, abandoning the sleep shorts where they fall and crawling back over her, my fingers tracing down her cheek.

The words which I so desperately want to say remain elusive, and so, I do the only thing I can, I kiss her with as much passion as I have, throwing everything that I am into the kiss.

Her response is equally intense, her body grinding against mine, her hands moving to work my boxers down over my hips. I break the kiss only to assist her actions, the boxers forgotten at the edge of the bed.

She slides one hand around my neck, bringing me back down on top of her, her lips urgently on mine. I feel my erection hard against her thigh and take a sharp breath in, the reality of the situation suddenly crashing.

My breathing is elevated as I stare down at her. "I don't… I didn't bring…" I run a shaky hand through my hair, beyond mortified that I did not have the presence of mind to even think about protection. I mentally curse myself for not listening to Rosalie when she questioned me about condoms earlier this week.

She places two fingers over my lips, smiling softly. "It's okay. I have some," she affirms quietly.

I swallow audibly, watching as she turns her body to the nightstand, opening the drawer, my eyes drinking in the curve of her spine. She turns back to me, holding the obvious blue square package in her fingers.

I let out a shaky breath, and with trembling fingers, reach for the package.

She closes her hand around it, resting her other palm against my cheek. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to. I'm happy just being here with you like this," she whispers.

My heart warms at her words. "Trust me, I want to… I'm just… I don't want to disappoint you. You've had more experience than I have," I admit, glancing down at the bed, feeling the heat rise further in my face.

She brushes her thumb gently against my cheek. "I've never experienced anything like this. This is a first for me, too… to feel this way with someone like you." She gently touches her lips to mine. "You're the most incredible man I've ever known, Edward Cullen."

My heart pounds harder in my chest at her words, and I gently brush her hair behind her shoulder as she eases back onto the bed, slowly opening her hand.

All hesitation is gone while I kiss her deeply, my fingers blindly moving to take the package from her hand before kissing gently down her neck, over one glorious breast to her navel.

"You're intoxicating," I murmur while she arches from the bed. I am on sensory overload as I circle my tongue against her tattoo, my fingers gingerly moving over her most intimate spot. The warmth and the wetness elicits a groan from one of both of us – I'm unable to determine which while I eagerly stroke and tease my fingers further into her.

She arches her hips towards me, my erection straining against her flesh, my heart feeling as though it will burst through my chest. She mumbles incoherently, while I boldly pass my tongue over her in a slow, deliberate pattern, her fingers desperately reaching to touch me.

With ragged breath, I lean up and rip open the package, the sound almost piercing through the room, causing Isabella to ease up on her elbows, her skin flushed with arousal.

I keep my eyes fixed on the condom, feeling her eyes on me as I remove it from the packaging, stopping for a moment, unsure of what I should do with the wrapping.

"Just throw it," she breathes.

I stare back at her, lifting my eyebrows at her suggestion, while her chest rises and falls rapidly.

I feel the corners of my mouth turn up and cheekily toss the wrapper behind my shoulder, not even bothering to see where it lands.

She giggles for a moment, her eyes dark, and I watch as she moves her fingers slowly, deliberately down her stomach, between her thighs, disappearing into her while she arches her back.

The visual is almost too much, and I drop the condom for a moment, my brain having trouble processing what I'm seeing, what I'm doing, how I'm currently in this situation.

"Mmm, Edward." Her breathy voice fills the room, sparking something deep inside me, and my hand scrambles to find the condom, rolling it on.

I trail my fingers up her inner thigh, slowly moving them with hers, at a slow and deep pace, feeling a tightening around them as my erection strains further against the thin covering around it.

I gently ease her thighs further, my lips moving with purpose against hers. Her fingers slip out, her hand moving to press against my hip.

My own fingers move up her sides, tracing the contour of her ribs. I slowly run my erection between her folds, my eyes clenching shut with the overpowering feeling.

She rolls her hips, her leg lifting higher over my waist as I slowly slide into her, stilling, trying to commit the feeling to memory.

She groans, biting at my lower lip, her fingers trailing over my back, pressing me impossibly closer, until I feel her hips slowly start to move.

Our tongues slide together deliberately, meaningfully, my fingers moving gently over her breast, up her neck, across her cheek, and into her hair. Our bodies move as if they are one, gently giving and receiving, a slow rhythm steadily building, pushing us both to ask for more.

Her fingers trail up my back over my shoulders and down again, a sensual pattern, faltering only when our gentle rocking increases. My mouth seeks purchase on any part of her skin I can find, desperate to take all of her in; her soft lips, the apple of her cheeks, the sensual curve of her neck, the delicate feel of her collarbone.

Her breathing hitches as she bends her knee, almost to her chest, producing a new angle which causes me to rock deeper, the rhythm between us increasing yet again. I arch back, opening my eyes, seeing her dark ones reaching into mine; so much intensity, so much want and passion… it's staggering.

She slides one hand from my hip, up my side, against my neck, moving to cup my cheek. "Edward…"

My name falling from her lips is more than I can take, and I lower my lips to hers, urgently tasting her as I feel a delicious burn ignite, scorching through me as the room spins.

I nip desperately at her lips, feeling myself lose complete control. "Isabella…" Her name is almost unrecognizable as it escapes me repeatedly in choppy breaths, my hand sliding to her hip, my fingers sinking into her delicate flesh.

She bites down on my lower lip, crying out while the bed creaks and complains under our pace. I feel an intense tightening around me, and I can take no more, releasing hard and without further warning, my head dropping to her shoulder, my breathing labored against her warm skin.

Her body arches and shudders as I continue to rock into her, not wanting to stop. Her fingers dig into my behind, her eyes clenched shut, our muffled, strained cries filling the room.

I kiss down the column of her neck, gradually willing my hips to slow, savoring the feel of her body under mine. It's like nothing I've ever felt before.

"So good. Fuck, you feel so good," she chokes out as I feel her body sink and relax further into the bed.

She slides her fingers into my hair, her chest heaving, and I quickly try to reposition myself to get my weight off her.

Her hands squeezing on my behind stops that immediately. "No. Don't move. You feel so good. I want to feel you on me like this. Please don't move… not ever," she says, tears brimming in her eyes.

I feel the panic spikes while I try to gauge her reaction. "Are you… did I hurt you?"

She shakes her head firmly. "No! God no. You're amazing, wonderful, just…" She drops her hand to my cheek, cupping it gently. "You."

"Me…?"

She nods. "You're all I need." She arches her hips against me again. "All I could ever want." She sweeps her tongue over my lower lip before kissing me firmly. "All I could ever dream to have."

I rest my forehead against hers, overcome by her words. "Isabella… I…"

She deliberately thrusts her hips against mine, setting two fingers on my lips. "Shh… Just make love to me again, Edward."

I smile against her fingers, gently moving them out of the way, my lips answering her request as the cool breeze drifts in from the window.

_BTN_

1:47. The fuzzy amber colored numbers on Isabella's clock that sits perched precariously on the edge of her nightstand.

Four. The number of times Isabella has repeated her earlier request that I make love to her tonight. Of course, I complied. It would be… ungentlemanly to refuse a lady.

I chuckle at my rambling thoughts, causing Isabella to stir slightly from her current location on my chest. Our legs are tangled together under the rumpled sheets, her arm tucked possessively almost around my chest, her head resting over my heart as I fight sleep for as long as I possibly can.

I kiss the top of her head, my fingers resting against the small of her back. My thoughts invade me while I struggle to try to deal with one thing that I know for certain.

I love her. If I'm being honest with myself, I have loved her since the day at the hot spring when she told me to just feel. Such a simple statement, which to most would seem like nothing, but to me is everything. She's opened me up to possibilities that I would never have dreamed to think of.

She lets out a soft sigh, her hand opening slightly at my side as she drifts further into sleep.

She says I'm all she could ever want. I don't understand how that's possible, but I want to believe her, and I want to remember this. How this feels – how she feels - and how I feel. I am completely and utterly changed by this phenomenal woman who has come to own my heart.

I feel my eyes start to lose the battle and tighten my arm around her.

I'm all she could ever want… I can only hope that's enough for us, because in two days, I go home.

Chapter end notes:

Twitter: CarLemon


	23. Chapter 23

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her latest story: Washed Up. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. Yes, I am well aware of the space between these chapters. I live it every day as I try to rewrite what I lost. Thank you for your patience.

Let's check in with Edward

Chapter 23

_Edward_

I slowly become aware of the warm, soft body currently wrapped around me. One leg gradually tangles with mine. Two supple breasts press firmly against my back. The intoxicating scent of her hair as it brushes over my shoulder causes the goose bumps to rise, and I feel my erection stir.

I smile when I feel a feather-light kiss on my shoulder. I hesitate to open my eyes. I'm afraid if I do, she'll be gone.

"Mmm… good morning." Isabella's sleepy voice melodically engulfs me as I turn onto my back.

She slides her hand up my chest, planting a kiss just below my collarbone. My heart pounds as I chance opening my eyes, looking into her intense gaze.

"It wasn't a dream," I whisper, sliding my hand into her hair.

She smiles, shaking her head slowly. "If it was I don't want to wake up," she says softly, kissing across my chest, starting a deliberate grind against me.

I can't … well honestly, I _don't_ want to stop my body as it automatically responds to her touch, arching towards her, my hand sliding down to rest on the small of her back.

She grins, lifting her head, leaning to kiss my chin, her lips hovering over mine. I recoil back on the pillow, my hand flying in front of my mouth. Her eyes widen in surprise.

"Shouldn't we… brush our teeth?" I ask from behind my hand.

Her response is to smirk and straddle my waist, sitting up, her hair cascading around her neck, floating just above her breasts. She is an ethereal vision, and I feel my breath catch in my throat.

Lacing her fingers with mine, she slowly leans forward, her tongue sweeping along my lower lip before nipping at it, a quiet -and I dare say- content sigh escaping from her lips.

The resulting sound that emanates from me is one that is becoming familiar when I'm with her. All too soon, she breaks the kiss, leaning back, her eyebrow raised.

"Take a shower with me." Her voice echoes through the room as I look at her warily.

"Shower?" My voice squeaks out a shaky response, my mind reeling with the suggestion.

She tilts her head to the side, furrowing her brow. "Let me guess. You never took a shower with Jessica?"

I shake my head slowly. "No. That's not something that I ever would have imagined doing with her… with anyone." I feel the heat rise in my face at my inexperience.

"Why not?" she asks, squeezing my fingers in silent encouragement.

"I just… isn't it a rather private experience?"

"So is sex," Isabella responds, raising an eyebrow.

"Isabella, that's not… it's not the same thing," I protest, not at all comfortable with this conversation. I simply cannot imagine sharing the tight confines of a shower.

She grins, leaning back down, her breasts pressed against me. I take a sharp breath in, my hand sliding to push her hair back from her face.

She trails her mouth under my ear, producing an involuntary shiver. "I've seen everything, and I'd like to see it in the shower," she whispers against my earlobe. "Now."

"Isabella, I—"

She silences my attempt at a protest, placing her fingers over my mouth, her lips hovering close. "Think of it as another baby step," she offers softly.

I gently lift her fingers from my lips. "If by baby step you mean similar to the feeling of free falling from an aircraft, then I suppose you could classify it as a baby step."

She giggles, shaking her head. "Free falling from an airplane is fun. You should try it," she states.

My eyes widen at her words. "I can honestly guarantee that you will never see me voluntarily jumping out of an airplane."

She laughs, kissing me gently. "Trust me when I tell you a shower is not nearly as scary."

She kisses me once more before sliding off my chest and making her way to the bathroom, my eyes drinking in her naked body. She stops at the door to the bathroom, glancing over her shoulder at me, an eyebrow raised. "Coming?"

_BTN_

I have now discovered that the merits of sharing a shower are vast. Firstly, you can look at it as an environmental activity. Conserving water is something I have now taken a concentrated interest in. Secondly, and more importantly, it is a feast for the senses.

The water drips off the ends of Isabella's soaked hair, trailing enticingly down between her breasts as she slowly squeezes water from a frayed blue cloth against my chest. Her gaze stays focused intently on my torso while I stand perfectly still, trying desperately not to hyperventilate.

The steam rises around us in the tiny shower, coating the glass door with a thin mist. She raises her eyes to mine, reaching around me to the shelf and retrieving a clear bottle of body wash. She squirts a generous dab into her palm before returning the bottle to the shelf.

I watch in fascination as she creates a foaming lather between her hands. The corners of her mouth turn up, and keeping her eyes locked to mine, she begins to stroke my erection.

My eyes slide shut at the feeling, my back settling against the tiled wall. My breathing elevates quickly while I slide my hand around the curve of her hip. She starts a slow but steady rhythm, bringing me closer with each pass of her hand.

My mind reels with the visual and with the sensation that only seems heightened with the shower raining down between us.

She leans up on her toes, her mouth at my ear as I fight to maintain control. It's unfortunately a lost cause. There is no stopping the emotion that takes over. I let out something akin to a growl, feverishly pressing my lips to hers, my hand squeezing at her hip. The action is clearly a welcome one, as evidenced by the moan that escapes from her own lips.

Her fingers graze the underside of my erection while I slide mine to her sensitive bundle of nerves in a bold move. She lets her head fall back, continuing with her determined pace, and I feel my imminent release threatening.

I lean forward, pressing my lips against the curve of her neck, sliding my fingers between her folds. My name falls from her lips in a whisper, triggering a visceral reaction from somewhere deep inside me.

I curl my fingers deeply, hoping to find the spot I did last night. Her hand tightens around my erection while her eyes close, her mouth dropped open.

I try to commit the visual to memory as I feel a clenching around my fingers. My hips seem to rock of their own accord, a burning tension firing in my stomach. The last bit of control I did have slips away, and I thrust hard into her hand, pulsing my release.

My free hand slips to the small of Isabella's back, supporting her as I feel her shudder, her head falling forward to my chest. I bury mine into the sweet thickness of her hair, inhaling the fragrance while my chest heaves.

My fingers slowly halt their movements, my hand sliding around her waist, holding her close. Keeping her head buried against my chest, she wraps her arms around my neck, placing a gentle kiss over my heart.

We stay like that, unmoving, while the water sprays down around us.

_BTN_

Fourteen –the number of minutes Isabella has been making what she terms, and I quote, "the most awesome waffles ever."

Nine –the number of calls I've missed from Emmett on my cell phone.

One permanent grin that I don't suspect will be leaving my face any time soon.

I sit on the couch, watching the local morning Alaskan news program while I wait. Any offers to assist with making breakfast were met by adamant refusals. So, I wait… in the clothes I wore last night. Actually, let me amend that. Isabella has taken ownership of my coveted grey Hanes t-shirt and is currently wearing it over a pair of black leggings while she works away in the kitchen.

I feel my smile spread wider. It's an odd but comforting feeling I have while I sit in the corner of the couch in the middle of the disarray that is her living room. I turn my head to the dining room table and promptly rise from the couch, heading to it.

If she won't let me help make breakfast, at least I can start on the mass of correspondence that currently occupies the table. Who knows what tax nightmares may lay hidden within the copious amounts of envelopes that live on the table.

I pick up the first white envelope and methodically set to task on categorizing. Only a few minutes pass, not nearly enough to make any reasonable progress, and Isabella's voice drifts to me from the kitchen.

"It's ready."

I smile at the melodic sound of her voice. Turning over a white envelope in my hand, I furrow my brow when I see a drawing in pencil on the back. It looks like a bridge, though not architecturally sound, with the words _Shawn – Tall and moody- December 2, 2010_, scrawled on the back.

"Edward? You don't want cold waffles, do you?" Isabella's teasing voice breaks my examination of the envelope, and I set it back on the pile, making my way to the kitchen.

The correspondence can wait. Waffles are calling my name and what a sweet sound it is.

_BTN_

My ears should be bleeding. Of this, I'm sure. The horrific sound emanating from the bar as I hold the door for Isabella is akin to injured wolves howling their tragic last breath.

I narrow my eyes in the direction of the screaming guitar currently being tortured. Sam and his wayward band of marginal musicians have commandeered the stage and seem perfectly happy wailing away to some unrecognizable tune.

The bar is empty, save for Jacob and Leah, who sit front and centre, bobbing their heads to the… music. No one should be subjected to hearing this.

I glance down at Isabella, about to suggest that perhaps we move to the restaurant and a less intrusive atmosphere. That plan is obliterated when I see her practically jumping up and down, pumping her fist in the air.

She tugs on my arm, weaving us around the scattered tables, stopping beside Jacob.

He looks up at us, smiling widely. "They sound great, don't they?" he asks seriously.

Isabella nods in agreement as I stare at the band members, stunned that anyone would believe that this sounds "great."

A dramatic drum finish signals the end to whatever they were trying to play, and Jacob vaults from his chair, whistling and clapping loudly.

"That was awesome!" he yells, leaning up to high-five Sam before turning to Leah. "What do you think, babe?"

A look of apprehension is clearly evident on Leah's face, indicating she thought the performance was less than "awesome."

"It was good, but I don't know about that song for the processional," she says, standing and lacing her fingers with Jacob's.

Oh dear Lord. _This _is the music he wants as he sees his bride for the first time on their wedding day? I feel ill, and judging from the look on the Leah's face, she shares my sentiments.

"Aw, come on, babe. It's edgy," Jacob says, wrapping his massive arm around her shoulder.

Leah looks to Isabella almost pleadingly before once again voicing her protest. "Maybe they could play it at the party after, Jake. I was thinking of something a little less… loud."

I find myself nodding at the more than fair compromise she has put forward. Jacob, however, pushes further, turning to Isabella and me.

"What do you think, Bells? It's a kick ass song, right?"

She nods, putting her hand on his bicep. "It is, but I'm kind of with Leah on this one, Jake."

Jacob rolls his eyes before looking at me. "Come on, Eddie." He punches me in the arm, sending me back slightly as my hand immediately flies to my bicep, rubbing the tender spot, which I'm sure is already bruising. "Us guys have to stick together. Tell me that's not an awesome song."

I feel all eyes on me as I adjust my glasses, looking to Sam before clearing my throat and turning to Jacob. "Okay. It's not an awesome song." His mouth falls open in disbelief, and I feel the heat rise in my face. "Not for a wedding processional, anyway," I amend, hoping to lessen my admission.

Jacob nods, scratching his head. "So what would you suggest, Ed?"

I stare back at him, my mind reeling with the possibilities of a song to convey the importance of such a monumental, life changing event. "I… um… there are a lot of possibilities, Jacob. I'm not… I'm probably not the one to ask," I stammer, praying that he abandons his question.

"Yeah, but you know music and shit. Hell, you took Bells to the symphony. What kind of stuff do they play there?"

"Well, it's mostly classical music. Bach, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, the list is endless, really." Judging by the look on Jacob's face, I highly doubt he has even heard of any of the composers I mentioned.

Leah, however, clearly has, and her eyes light up as she leans into Jacob's arm. Jacob scowls, furrowing his brow. "Classical? That's not me, though, man," he states pointedly.

"Yes. Just as what the band was playing isn't Leah, either," I reply, immediately regretting my brazen words. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never given such a response. I watch Jacob warily, trying to gauge his reaction.

He looks down at Leah, as if I've just told him something monumental. "You really didn't like it?" he asks.

She sighs, leaning into him further. "I did, just not for when I'm going to walk down the aisle."

I breathe a quiet sigh of relief that Jacob does not seem to be offended at my opinion. I watch as Sam steps forward to the microphone, his voice echoing through the bar.

"That's cool. We can try a few other songs, man. No biggie," he says, shrugging.

"Maybe Edward can play something." Isabella's voice drifts to me while I feel my heart instantly speed at her words.

"Isa… Isabella, I…" Her fingers intertwine with mine, and she squeezes in reassurance.

"There's a keyboard and everything," she urges, lifting her head to the stage where one of the band mates sits in front of a _Roland_ electric piano, his arm draped over the side, smirking at me.

"No," I whisper, looking down at the floor, wishing it would swallow up and whisk me away.

"Edward? Look at me." I lift my head immediately, my eyes searching hers. "I can sit right beside you. It would be a big help to Leah."

I glance over at Leah, who smiles at me in support. I run a shaky hand through my hair, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"I don't play for anyone," I reply. I look back to Isabella, seeing the disappointment flash across her face.

"You play for me." Emmett's voice booms through the bar, and I whip my head to the door, seeing him standing with Rosalie, Jasper and Alice, his arms crossed.

I shake my head as he moves with purpose towards me. "It's not the same thing, and you know it," I respond, furrowing my brow.

"Why isn't it?" he challenges, stopping in front of me.

"Because… it's just not."

His boisterous laughter fills the bar. "That's your logical answer?" His laughter stops abruptly, and he places his hand on my shoulder, squeezing. "Play something," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. "For me."

The room spins as I take in his words and his silent encouragement. "I haven't… it's been a while since I've played," I protest weakly.

"It's only been two weeks." Alice's voice drifts to me, and I turn to see her standing beside Isabella. It's like they can sense fear in the weak and are ganging up on me.

I feel my palms start to sweat and drop Isabella's hand, raking my fingers through my hair. "I don't know this instrument," I note, waving my hand in the direction of the stage. "I play on a Steinway."

"Aren't they all the same?" Jacob asks naively.

I let out a shaky laugh, adjusting my glasses as I stare at him. "Is every airplane the same?"

"Well, no, not at all," he says seriously.

"Exactly, Jacob."

"Come on, Eddie. It's no big deal. It's just us," Jacob replies flippantly. "No one expects you to be perfect."

"_I_ expect me to be perfect, Jacob."

He huffs a response, shaking his head as if he's amused. "Here's a news flash. You're not. No one is, man. I stopped trying to be a long time ago."

Time seems to stand still for a moment as I let Jacob's harsh yet pointed words sink in. They hit close to home. Perfection for me has always been self imposed. It certainly never came from Emmett or my mother or father. They were always accepting of me, supporting me when no one else did.

I take in the faces in the room. Faces of people I would trust with my life; of people who have always been there for me and those who are just starting to be. I have no logical reason to be on the verge of a panic attack with the mere thought of playing in front of them, but here I stand, palms sweaty, heart racing, the room spinning.

My eyes dart to the piano on the stage. It's irrational that I'm afraid to play. It is something I know I do well. Behind the piano is a place where I am comfortable, and I don't have many of those.

I feel Isabella's fingers squeeze mine as she leans into me. I look down into hopeful eyes, and she smiles softly, providing me her own brand of silent encouragement.

With my heart in my throat and keeping Isabella close to my side, I move slowly to the side of the stage, taking the three steps up. They are the hardest steps I've ever climbed. My legs feel shaky, as if they are unable to support my weight any longer.

I move beside the piano, my eyes running over the keys before looking up at the band member who previously pounding away on it. "Be my guest, man," he says, providing a smirk before backing away from the bench.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod, sitting down on the worn seat, my chest heaving. I close my eyes and focus on not passing out, as I become acutely aware that all eyes are on me.

I hear the seat creak slightly while Isabella leans into me. I smile involuntarily at the feel of her body next to mine and open my eyes to her.

She holds my gaze, offering me the warm smile that I am now convinced is meant solely for me. Without further hesitation, keeping my eyes locked to hers, I raise my shaking fingers and run them gently across the keys.

No sound is produced but her smile widens while I repeat the process, feeling the electricity flow through me as it always does before I play.

I still my fingers for a moment, keeping my eyes locked to hers before I start a series of scales, listening intently. Surprisingly, it appears to be in tune, although from the racket that was playing when we arrived, you would never have known that.

I start the slow melody, playing from memory and feeling alone, the sound lifting through the bar as I glance down for a moment at my fingers before looking back at Isabella.

"Now, most people haven't heard this song played this particular way," I start to explain.

She furrows her brow. "I'm not sure I know what it is," she says quietly.

I smile and continue the gentle first movement of the piece. "Emmett has always said he would want this playing at his wedding. First, because Barry White is…" I lift my head to Emmett, who has his eyes locked to the stage, holding onto Rosalie tightly. "What is the term you use?"

"The fucking bomb, dude," he yells.

Laughter fills the room while I quietly chuckle at Emmett's description, continuing to gently play the soft melody. "Yes, but secondly, and more importantly, if you listen to the words of the song, Emmett says it's what you should be feeling when you see your future wife walking towards you."

Isabella stares back at me in anticipation while I melodically start moving through the slow pace of the song, my voice lifting slightly over the sound of the piano.

_My first, my last, my everything  
_

Isabella blinks, taking a quick breath in, her eyes staying locked to mine while I gradually continue.

_And the answer to all my dreams  
_

_You're my sun, my moon, my guiding star  
_

_My kind of wonderful, that's what you are  
_

I smile, seeing her lift her hand to cover her mouth, her cheeks flushing.

_I know there's only, only one like you  
_

_There's no way they could have made two  
_

I ease into the chord change, pausing and feeling the weight of the words before continuing.

_You're all I'm living for  
_

_Your love I'll keep for evermore  
_

_You're the first, you're the last, my everything_

Isabella drops her hand to her lap, the tears welling in her eyes as her smile overtakes her face.

"Edward," she breathes.

"Or something like that. It's not perfect, I know." I recoil my hands immediately from the piano, feeling my face flush as I stare down at my fingers. An awkward silence grips the room, my heart pounding against my chest.

"It _is_ perfect." Jacob's voice ends my internal critique of my performance before I can begin it. He leaps up onto the stage, stalking to the piano while I stare at him in disbelief. "It's perfect for us."

I let out a shaky breath while the room erupts in applause, Jasper's wolf whistles louder than them all. I shake my head in embarrassment, my eyes falling to Rosalie, whose tears are falling freely.

Isabella's tiny hand grips mine as I feel a surge of adrenaline course through me. I gently lift my thumb to her cheek, wiping the tears away. "It's just a song," I whisper, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the Alaskan wilderness were I can try hide away.

She squeezes my hand tighter, resting her forehead against mine before whispering, "No it's not. It's everything."

Chapter end notes:

I found Edward's version of the Barry White classic several months ago when doing research and knew it had to be in here. Take a listen:

www(dot) /tiffanyandco#p/c/92DD5FB78BCC2BC8/2/T4jBlJV9SzU

Thoughts?

Twitter: CarLemon


	24. Chapter 24

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also made the banner. Check out her latest story: Washed Up. XO BB _

A million thanks to my dear friend MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. Yes, I am well aware of the space between these chapters. I live it every day as I try to rewrite what I lost. Thank you for your patience.

Let's check in with Edward

Chapter 24

_Edward_

One hour, twenty-six minutes. I now measure time based upon when I last saw Isabella.

Twenty-two. The number of additional entries I have made in the spreadsheet as I sit on one of Isabella's creaky chairs in the dining room.

For the most part, the envelopes contained within the chaotic pile are harmless. There are a few magazine subscription renewal requests that require her attention and various coupons flyers which, for the most part, have expired.

There are four receipts that have been marked "paid," which I have itemized, and several crumpled up invoices from the general store, which I need further clarification on. All in all, I am quite shocked to have not found something more pressing within the mess.

But then, of course, there are the five envelopes which currently taunt me from the middle of the table. I don't know what to make of them, and quite honestly, I fear what may be hidden inside.

While Isabella has given me permission to open, and I quote, "whatever junk I find," these seem to be personal, perhaps even intimate letters. Each envelope has the name of a man on the back, in what I now recognize as Isabella's unique script, along with a picture, clearly drawn by her.

I've been staring at them for eight minutes as I fight the silent internal battle which is raging. There is a part of me that wants to simply rip them into a thousand pieces and pretend I didn't see them. It is a reaction based purely on raw emotion, and I am fully willing to admit, on insecurity.

I pick up the light blue envelope for the third time, turning it over and rereading the back.

_Harry – July 4, 2010 – Sweet and funny_

I stare at the picture of the fish that she has drawn beside the man's name. The fish looks to have a little smile, and I wonder what she was thinking when she drew it. I'm wondering a lot of things about these particular envelopes, things that I probably shouldn't be wondering. Things that are making me question what exactly I'm doing.

I push back from the table and move to stare out the front window, hoping to dispel my unexplainable agitation.

I can see Rosalie and Alice, currently taking advantage of the mid morning sun, stretched out in cedar chairs on the dock beside Jacob's plane. They look content and happy, laughing as they usually do, most likely about something Emmett has done this morning.

I wonder what they would think of these envelopes. What opinion they would have. I shake my head and push that thought away. I don't know what's wrong with me. This is Isabella's personal business, and I'm actually contemplating revealing it only to quell my own morbid curiosity.

Abandoning the tempting envelopes, I venture out towards the dock. I need a distraction… something else to focus on. I need to get things sorted for the excursion to Denali. That's sure to keep me occupied… at least for a while.

_BTN_

"Would you keep your voice down? I'm sure they can hear the echo up at the restaurant," I hiss as Rosalie squeals with excitement, jumping like a fool upon her realization of my… activities last night.

Her jumping stops suddenly, and she narrows her eyes at me. "Wait. What about protection?"

I shake my head, adjusting my glasses and wishing I had never decided to venture out to the dock.

"You don't have to worry about that, Rosalie," I mumble.

She smirks at me. "See? I told you she'd have some."

"Can we just stop talking about this?" I whisper, my hand nervously rubbing the back of my neck.

Alice leans into me, wrapping her arm around my waist. "We're just happy for you, Edward."

I smile down at her, nodding my understanding.

"It's good to see you like this," she adds.

"Like this?" I question.

"Yeah. You're… relaxed or something."

"Hmm… or something," I mutter.

Alice looks up at me, furrowing her brow. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. It means nothing. Where are Emmett and Jasper? We need to get on the road soon." I scowl, looking in the direction of the Lodge. I'm not at all looking forward to spending the night without Isabella, but I can't exactly crash a bachelorette party, can I?

My ridiculous thought fades quickly as I see Emmett running down the dock towards me with Jasper sauntering behind him.

"Dude!" Emmett's voice booms to me as he stops beside Rosalie, the dock swaying slightly under his weight. "Ready to go?" he asks excitedly, practically bouncing.

"I just need to sort my suitcase and find Isabella, and then I will be."

He shoots me a questioning look. "You're not ready?"

I shake my head in amusement at his shocked expression. "No. I'm not."

He lets out a loud laugh, hitting me in the shoulder. "Seems you're more like me than you realize, bro."

_BTN_

The contents of my suitcase consists of four grey _Hanes_ t-shirts, one extra pair of jeans, six pairs of socks, two dark blue button down shirts, and a spare hoodie. It doesn't seem like enough for an overnight trip, but then again, we are going into the woods. I don't think a tie is required.

I chuckle as I sit on the edge of the bed and lace up my hiking boots. I can't believe I even contemplated taking a tie into the wilds of Denali. I rise from the bed, re-checking the contents of the backpack that currently sits in the middle of the bed.

The bear kit, the GPS, one extra compass, a first aid kit, a set of printed off directions in case the GPS fails, and a map. I feel myself flush at the supply of condoms that Emmett brought me earlier. I carefully place them on top of the travel chess set at the bottom of the backpack and zip it up.

"That is one fine ass, Mr. Cullen."

The unexpected sound of Isabella's melodic voice causes me to whip around, my heart racing as I see her leaning against the door frame, her gaze heated.

"You startled me," I manage, raking my hand through my hair, staring back at her.

She smirks, slowly taking a step into the room and closing the door. She leans against it, and I hear a distinct lock before she crooks her finger, beckoning me to her.

My mouth drops open and the familiar hypnotic state I often find myself in when I'm with her takes over.

Keeping my eyes locked to hers, I slowly move to the door, skimming my hand around her waist, the fingers of my free hand softly tracing the gentle contour of her cheek.

Her breathing hitches, her hand fisting my shirt as she yanks hard to pull me forward, crashing her lips to mine.

I press my torso against her as our tongues mingle with urgency. I feel her tiny hand drift into the back pocket of my jeans, her finger squeezing while she arches towards me.

Instantly, I am on sensory overload. It's like I haven't seen her in days, even though it's been less than two hours. I am desperate for every touch, every kiss. I can't get enough, and I find myself feverishly working on the button of her jeans.

She bites down on my bottom lip, tugging it between her teeth while her own fingers fumble with the belt on my jeans.

It is a mass of flailing limbs and waywardly discarded clothing, and I boldly press myself against her, the door creaking a squeaky complaint.

The sound causes me to stop for a moment, our ragged breathing filling the room, my chest heaving while I stare down at her, shocked at my brazen behavior.

"I'm sor—"

She lifts her fingers to my mouth, silencing my feeble attempt at an apology.

She cups my face between her hands, her lips hovering over mine. "Never say you're sorry about something like this." She slides one hand down my arm to my hand, lifting it to her heart. "Do you feel this?'

My mouth goes dry as I feel her heart thunder beneath my palm.

"It beats for you. It's like this because of you. Do you know how many people never get to experience that? To feel something like this?"

Speech remains elusive, and I can only nod a response.

"So, feel it. Right here… right now."

I rest my forehead against hers, trying to formulate an intelligent response. Any attempts at that are quickly abandoned as I feel her pull back on my belt, releasing the buckle and lowering the zipper on my jeans. I take a sharp breath in while her hand sinks under the band of my boxers, and closes around my straining erection.

"I need you, Edward," she whispers against my ear, sending a shiver through me.

Her forceful words stir something buried deep inside me, and I press my lips firmly to hers. Urgently, I push my jeans down over my hips, stumbling slightly as I try to rid myself of them, along with my boxers.

She extracts her hand from around me just long enough to tug her own jeans and panties off, and then, in a move that stuns me further, I watch as she kneels and closes her mouth around my erection.

"Isa—" I can't even finish her name, watching while she flattens her tongue over me before taking me back in, her eyes locked to mine.

My fingers ease into her hair, and I desperately fight the urge which wants to take over. Her fingers squeeze against my thigh, as I feel my muscles tense immediately. Her tongue circles me once more before she releases me and stands, her hands moving around my waist, pulling me against her, her breath hot against neck.

My hand slips around her waist, smoothing up her back, while I shamelessly grind against her. All rational thought leaves me as she curls her leg around my waist, arching her hips forward.

Pressing forward, my lips eagerly seek out hers, pinning her against the door, our tongues frantically moving together. Her hand skims around my hip, her blunt fingernails scratching against the skin, while my hand seeks out any flesh I can find.

Sensation courses through me as she flexes forward, my erection pressing dangerously close, and I take a sharp breath in, panting against her neck.

"Isabella… I don't… what about pro—"

Her lips are on mine quickly, her response an unintelligible murmur, causing the logical side of me to kick in. In a moment of clarity, I grip her shoulders tightly, pressing her against the wooden door.

"Protection." I somehow manage the word, and her eyes fly open, dark and wanting.

Her chest heaves as she leans against the door. "I... have some at home," she breathes. "We can go—"

This time, it's my fingers, gently pressing against her lips. She bites against the pad of my index finger, watching while I take a step away from her. I rake my shaking fingers through my hair, turning for the backpack and the small supply of blue square packages Emmett threw at me unceremoniously less than twenty minutes ago.

Unzipping the backpack and collecting one, I turn back to her, watching as her eyes widen in response, a knowing smirk breaking on her lips. "And here I thought you didn't have any. Have you been holding out on me?" she teases, tilting her head to one side.

I simply shake my head, raising the foil package and slowly tearing it open. Her eyes dart from to my fingers while I move back to her, placing the square into her hand.

Her lips part slightly, and she sinks down in front of me, her hand trailing across my hip, before closing around my length, stroking firmly. I place a palm against the door to steady myself, feeling her tongue tease in slow circles before she slowly rolls the condom over me.

My eyes slide shut, my hips pressing forward with need, and I feel her skim back up my torso, her lips pressing above my heart, her hands smoothing over my shoulders to lace behind my neck.

I trail my hand down her side, my lips finding hers again. My fingers press against her thigh, coaxing it up over my waist as I slowly ease into her. Nipping against my lip she lets out a low groan, her hips pressing forward desperately while we start to move together.

Everything else ceases to exist, and I become consumed by her. The curve of her waist underneath my fingertips, the taste of her tongue against mine, the swell of her breasts pressing in a steady rhythm against my chest.

I rock my hips against hers, the pace and intensity increasing with each thrust. Her hands slide against my back, urging me impossibly closer as her teeth graze the skin on my shoulder.

"Fuck, Edward," she pants against my neck, the rocking of her hips matching mine.

I feel my muscles tense at her words, tightening in time with hers, my fingers straining against her hips, struggling to pull her closer.

I bury my head against her neck, biting hard against her skin, giving myself over to the feeling. My skin heats further against hers, her breath warm, ragged, and consuming until I can take no more. My release pulses through me fast and unexpectedly, her loud cry silenced by my lips.

Kissing down her neck, I slowly uncurl my fingers from her hips while my heart races. She releases the vice-like grip on my neck to push her fingers through my hair, resting her forehead on mine while we try to regain control of our breathing.

I'm not sure how much time passes as we stay there, her back still pressed against the door, my body flush against hers, neither one of us wanting to move. Eventually, I ease back into reality, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Are you alright?" I ask quietly, gazing down at her.

She nods a response, lacing her fingers with mine, squeezing gently. "I am more than alright."

I nod, somehow extracting myself from her, my eyes falling to the discarded clothing on the floor. I shake my head, bending to pick up her shirt, lifting it to her.

"You'll be needing this, I think."

She giggles, taking it from me, a radiant smile on her face. She leans down, raising my grey t-shirt. "And you'll be needing this."

I nod, finding it hard to contain my own smile while I pull it over my head. I stare back at her, taking in her tousled hair and the flush of her cheeks as she continues to redress. I think I could watch her all day and never tire of the visual.

While I re-button my jeans, she turns away from me slightly to adjust her clothing, and my brow furrows as my eyes fall to a series of red marks on her back. Buckling my belt, I move to her, gingerly tracing the raised scratches, feeling my brow furrow.

"I did this to you." My voice is barely audible, and I turn away from her, horrified at my inconsiderate behavior.

Isabella is at my side quickly, her hand sliding into mine. "Did what?"

I swallow thickly, clenching my eyes shut. "Your back… there are marks from the door, and-"

She leans up, her palm cupping my cheek. "Hey. I don't care. I can't even feel it, and even if I could, I wouldn't change it." I shake my head at her words and then feel her lips press against mine. "Please don't worry about this, okay? You are amazing, and I want to do that again soon."

I slip my free hand around her waist, pulling her against my chest. "You do?" I ask, leaning back to gauge her reaction.

"Of course I do." She tugs my bottom lip between her teeth. "Against the wall, in the shower, on some table… wherever."

My eyes widen at her words. "T—Table?"

She laughs and nods, squeezing my hand in hers as my eyes dart to the flimsy desk that sits in front of the open window.

"Getting some ideas there?" she asks playfully, smirking up at me.

I feel the anticipation spike, coaxing her towards the desk. "Well..." My salacious thought is quickly ended when I hear Emmett's booming voice drifting to me through the screen on the window above the desk.

"Dude! Get a move on!"

Isabella turns to the window, brushing her hair from her face, laughing while he continues to shout at the top of his lungs from the grass below the balcony.

"You're going to be late," she says, turning back to me.

I rake my fingers through my hair. "I already am, and you know what? I'm absolutely fine with that."

She laughs, wrapping her arms around my waist. "What am I going to do with you, Edward Cullen?"

I grin, tightening my arm around her. "Anything you want, Isabella Swan."

_BTN_

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Emmett asks for the third time as we trek through the overgrown growth of the Denali forest.

Jasper chuckles, nodding his confirmation, leading us down some barely visible path that doesn't appear to have had anyone on it years.

"I'm sure. Just trust me," Jasper calls over his shoulder.

I open the compass, checking it again. We are indeed heading in the right direction, which gives me some sense of comfort. Civilization has long been lost, and we are closing in on twenty-five minutes of hiking. I'm actually somewhat concerned about the ladies finding their way, but Isabella repeatedly assured me that she was familiar with the cabin's location.

The forest seems to be alive with twigs snapping beneath our feet, birds signaling our arrival while they soar high above the fir trees, and of course, Emmett, who hasn't stopped talking since we got into the SUV.

He's currently carrying the bulk of our supplies, including a case of Urban Wilderness Pale Ale beer, which he picked up from Charlie prior to our departure.

I snap the compass closed and raise my head to Emmett's bulking form, which disappears into the mass of green in front of me.

"See?" Jasper's voice echoes back to me, and I hear Emmett let out an excited holler. "Why do you doubt me? Have I ever led you wrong before?"

"There was that one time at the tailgate party…" Emmett's voice trails, and I hear them start to scuffle as I emerge from the forest to a small clearing and our intended destination.

While they continue with their mock fight, I take in the modest rustic, cedar cabins that line the shore of the small lake. Large decks face the Alaska Range, which rises in the distance. The sun beats down against the water and two red canoes rest upside down against its bank.

Each of the six cabins have lounge chairs lining the deck, with four picture windows at the front. It's idyllic and calming, and I wish I had allotted more than one night here.

Jasper's laughter gains my attention, and I turn to them in time to see Emmett tossing me a can of beer. I somehow manage to catch it, furrowing my brow.

"Drink up, bro," he suggests nonchalantly.

"Have we just met?" I ask, shaking my head and setting my backpack on one of the pine picnic tables.

"It's not going to kill you," he fires back at me, joining me at the table.

"Yes, I know. But shall I cast your memory back to the first fraternity university party you hosted?"

"You were young, and that mix was pretty damn lethal."

"How would you even remember that? You were dressed in a toga and passed out cold beside the mascot by ten o'clock."

"Mascot?" His laughter echoes loud while he sits down on top of the table. "I thought that was a cheerleader."

"See what alcohol can do?"

Jasper chuckles and joins us, nudging me in the shoulder. "This place is great, Edward. How did you even find it?"

"Research, and Isabella suggested it." I feel myself smile at her name, causing both of them to chuckle.

"You really like her, don't you?" Emmett asks, taking a long sip of his beer.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Well to us, yes." Jasper leans against the table beside me. "What are you going to do when we leave tomorrow night?"

My smile fades instantly. "I don't know, Jasper," I reply quietly.

"Maybe you don't have to leave," Emmett states.

"What? That's ridiculous. I can't just stay here." I set the can of beer on the table, and watch as Jasper takes it and pops it open, handing it back to me with a smirk.

"Why not?"

My hand closes around the can as I take it from him. "Because we have a life in Seattle, a company we run together… a house and—"

"Blah, blah, blah. Whatever, dude. Those are excuses. There's nothing you do that you can't do remotely."

I frown at Emmett's words. "Are you saying I'm not a valuable part of the organization?"

He punches me in the shoulder, sending me off balance slightly. "Of course not. We couldn't do any of the shit we do without you, and you know it. But there's the internet, and webcams, and cell phones. We could make it work."

I shake my head and find myself raising the can of beer to my lips, taking a sip absentmindedly as I listen to Emmett's words.

"What's more important, Edward, is that you're actually happy here," Jasper says, rising from the picnic table and clasping me on the shoulder. "That's all that matters."

I nod, watching as he bends down to pick up his oversized backpack, breaking out into a sprint for the cabins, yelling over his shoulder, "I call dibs on the one with the hammock!"

Chapter End Notes:

Thoughts?

Twitter : CarLemon


	25. Chapter 25

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also made the BTN banner. Check out her latest story: Washed Up. XO BB _

_Special thanks to my good friend, Lattecoug! *sending hugs*_

_Thanks to Robbsweetangel, my Twilighted beta. We miss you, hun!_

A million thanks to my dear friend and partner in crime, MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. Yes, I am well aware of the space between these chapters. I live it every day as I try to rewrite what I lost. Thank you for your patience.

Let's check in with Bella.

Chapter 25

_Bella_

"_So, raise your glass if you are wrong in all the right ways!" _Leah's slurred voice belts out above the pulsing music as she stands on the table inside _Humpy's Great Alaskan Alehouse._

She's on her seventh, or it could be her tenth Cosmo. I've kind of lost track, and she shows no signs of slowing down.

The liquid sloshes over the rim of her glass, spilling onto the worn wooden floor as Emily, Alice, Rose, and I urge her on. I'm actually amazed that she hasn't passed out yet. She's usually a lightweight, but she's definitely on a roll tonight.

I on the other hand, stopped at my second beer–unheard of for me-but I have places to go and people to see later on tonight. Well, one place and one extremely tempting person. The last thing I want to be is wasted on Edward's last night here.

That thought alone is sobering. It's hard for me to imagine him not being here. He has come to mean so much to me in such a short period of time. Maybe I could…

"Bella!" My wandering thoughts come to a screeching halt as Leah shrieks, pulling me up by the arm and urging me to join her on the table. I don't need for her to ask me twice. Drunk or not, I'm table dancing.

_BTN_

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Rose asks, laughing as she stumbles along behind me while I lead them down the trail to the cabins in the park.

Any chance we had of sneaking up on the boys is long gone. You can hear us miles away, I'm sure.

"Trust me," I call over my shoulder while we trudge our way along the darkened path.

A chorus of giggles answers me as I finally see the clearing up ahead. Emerging from the trees, I tilt my head immediately to the side, narrowing my eyes, unsure if what I'm seeing is actually a figment of my extremely over-active, and let's face it, horny imagination.

Under the muted light of the low hanging moon, submerged waist deep in the small lake, Emmett, …Jasper-and yes even Edward-splash each other as their laughter echoes through the clearing.

I feel my mouth drop open at the sight of their backs turned to us, their skin illuminated by the pale moon. The giggling of Alice and Rose abruptly stops as they practically fall out of the woods beside me.

"Holy fuck, I must be wasted. I'm seeing things," Rose slurs, leaning against me.

"Let's go!" Alice shrieks, running full tilt, peeling off her shirt in the process and dropping it on the picnic table. "Jazzzzzz!"

"Alice!" I hiss. Of course she ignores my feeble attempt to stop her, pausing only to kick off her stilettos into the sand and rake her jeans down, practically flying into Jasper's arms as he turns and offers her a smirk.

Emmett and Edward turn to face the clearing, and I have to remind myself to breathe. A few lazy ripples lap against them as my eyes rake up Edward's lean torso, the water dripping from the ends of his hair onto his face.

He offers me a shy smile and then lifts his hand from the water, crooking his finger at me. "It's just like a bath, Isabella," he calls to me. "Come on in."

I blow a wayward strand of hair from my face and try to catch up to Rose, who has decided to just run in, completely clothed.

My gaze stays locked to Edward's as I kick my sandals off, pulling down my jean skirt and making my way across the cool, sandy shore, clad just in my boy shorts and black tank top.

The water breaks against my skin. _Like a bath my ass!_ I feel the goose bumps rise immediately as I move across the sandy bottom, holding my arms up and making my way to him.

"It's freezing!" I yell, and am answered by a splash of water from Edward's direction. He chuckles, grinning while he wades towards me. "Is that the way you want to play?"

"No." I feel his hand slide around my waist, easing me against his chest. "This is the way I want to play." He pulls me deeper into the water, my feet becoming weightless as his lips press eagerly to mine.

My legs wrap around his waist, my hands sinking urgently into his soaked hair as I deepen the kiss, trying to press as close as humanly possible. I'm never going to survive him being gone for any length of time. I know this now.

I slide my tongue eagerly with his while his hands move to my hips, squeezing gently. The lingering tang of beer drifts to me, and I feel him lift me further, moving to shallower water.

I pull back only to graze my lips down his neck. "Edward Cullen, have you been drinking?"

He laughs as I feel the water slowly disappear, moving my lips back to his.

"Mmm… Only two, Isabella. And they were well spaced out."

"Always responsible," is my mumbled response.

A series of cat calls and whistles from the lake fade as I bury my face against his neck. He struggles, carrying me across the sand, making it only to the porch before I feel the sting of the wood against my lower back, his lips pressing firmly to mine.

"I missed you… God help me, I missed you so much." His words come out in a choked whisper, his fingers trailing down my face. He rests his forehead against mine, his glasses fogging slightly from his panted breath.

I cup his cheek in my hand, my thumb sweeping over the wet skin. "I'm here. I'm always going to be here."

He nods, and without further warning, scoops my legs up and takes the steps to the screen door, kicking it open.

_BTN_

The morning mist is just starting to burn off the lake when I make my way out to the wrap-around porch. The screen door bangs slightly behind me as I stretch and breathe in the fresh air.

My muscles ache… a good ache from a man who I know I have fallen completely in love with. I lean against the railing of the deck, staring blankly into the woods, wondering how I'm going to handle this goodbye.

I feel the tears well up at the mere thought. I'm not going to handle it. That's the truth. This is a feeling that I know comes rarely in a lifetime, and then only if you are extremely lucky.

I decide to try to focus on that; the fact that I got to experience something that some people never do.

I feel him before I see him. The warmth of his arm envelopes me from behind, his free hand brushing the hair from my neck as his lips press gently against my skin.

"I don't like waking up to find you gone." His sleepy voice is barely audible as my body molds back to meet his.

I turn quickly in his arms, curling my fingers around his shoulders and gripping the fabric of his grey t-shirt. "Then don't go," I whisper, burying my cheek against his chest. "Please."

He tightens his arms around my waist, lowering his face into my hair. "I have to, Isabella."

My fingers hold tighter to his shirt as the tears start to fall. "No, you don't."

He pulls back, his fingers skimming under my chin, tilting it up, looking down at me in a way only he can.

"Come with me," he whispers, his thumb brushing the tears from my cheek.

I try to shake off the melancholy to focus on our last few hours together. Smirking, I lift up on my toes and sink my fingers into his messed hair. "Yes, sir."

He shakes his head slowly, skimming his nose against mine. "I want to play a game," he murmurs.

"Mmm..." I nip against his bottom lip. "This is sounding better all the time."

He pulls away, tugging gently on my arm and leading me around the deck to the back. "I mean an actual game, Isabella."

"Mhmm." My eyes fall over the lean contours of his back, hidden of course by his grey t-shirt. He stops beside a round, pine patio table, motioning with his hand to the chess board that has been set up. "Oh, you really mean an actual game," I mumble, looking up at him.

His brow furrows. "What did you think I meant?"

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from answering that question. His mind is clearly set on this, and so I'll humor him... for now.

I move in front of him, my hand sliding across his torso, lingering for a moment on the band of his pajama pants before I sink down into the Adirondack chair. I prop my elbows up on the table, resting my chin against one hand, glancing up at him as he closes his eyes and takes a few breaths.

"The game, Edward?" I prompt, trying to contain my smirk.

"Yes... the game." He seems to compose himself and takes the seat opposite me, studying the board carefully. "Have you played before?"

I nod. "Mhmm..." A look of surprise overtakes his face. "Charlie and I used to play all the time."

His eyes widen for a moment at my words. "Oh... I didn't realize you were versed in the game."

I chuckle, leaning forward, sliding my fingers over a pawn piece. "Not just another pretty face, remember?"

"I didn't mean to imply... I'm sorry, Isabella," he whispers, staring down at the board.

I reach across the table, lacing my fingers with his and squeezing gently. "Let's see just how good you are, Edward," I challenge. He smiles back at me, his eyes locking with mine. "I will warn you, you're looking at the 2005 Cooper Landing Chess Master."

His mouth drops open for a second as he stares in disbelief. "The what?" he asks.

I laugh, moving one of the pawns forward. "Granted, my only competition was Jake and Dad, but still."

He chuckles, looking somewhat relieved by that and leans forward in his chair. His eyes narrow, his long fingers pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he settles them over one of the black pawn pieces.

My mouth goes dry watching the innocent movement. Even with my competitive streak, there's no way I'm going to let this game last very long.

I pull off the tie from around my wrist, slowly twisting my wayward hair back into a ponytail, studying the board. The gentle breeze from the lake drifts to me, the only sound heard is the lapping of the small waves against the shore and the occasional rustle from some unseen animal in the woods.

I take my time deciding on a move, feeling the penetrating heat of his gaze as I brush my foot against his leg, starting at his ankle and moving up slowly to his inner thigh.

I hear him take a sharp intake of breath as I move another pawn forward before raising my gaze to his.

"I know what you're doing, Isabella," he says, the corners of his lips turning up slightly.

"I'm playing chess," I say decisively, trailing my foot higher up his thigh.

"You don't play fair," he breaths, closing his eyes for a moment before looking down at the board.

I press my foot against the bulge in his pajama pants. "Never said I did."

He clears his throat, moving out the rook, studying the piece closely before finally locking his eyes back to mine, his eyes blazing from behind his glasses.

"The rules of chess clearly state—"

I tilt my head to the side, leaning forward, half out of my seat already. "Fuck the rules."

His eyes widen as I push up all the way from my chair, practically launching myself around the table and into his lap, knocking over chess pieces in the process.

My lips are on his frantically as I try to straddle his waist, my hands seeking out any flesh they can find. His arms wrap tightly around me, his palms smoothing up under my shirt, answering the kiss with matched enthusiasm.

"Isabella… we're outside," he murmurs between kisses.

"Don't care." My hand drifts down between us, palming over the fabric of his pajama pants against his length, a desperate whimper escaping me.

"Is it wrong that I don't ,either?" His voice sounds raspy as his lips trail down my neck.

I shake my head, leaning to expose more of my neck to him, desperate for each touch. "No."

I feel him shift the chair out further from the table, the action causing his erection to brush against me, a needy moan escaping from me.

His hand skims to the back of my neck, his fingers easing into my hair as I arch back, his mouth settling on my shoulder. My hips seem to grind against him on their own, the ache I have for him intensifying while my hand sinks below the band of his pants, my thumb teasing in circles over the head of his shaft.

"Edward…" His lips find mine again, a new passion spiking while his hand moves to my ass, his fingers toying with the back of my panties. His hips lift from the chair as I stroke firmly down his length, my tongue sliding eagerly with his.

I am overcome with emotion about this week, about the feelings that I know I have for him, about losing this incredible man who has come to mean so much to me.

I fight back the tears, knowing it will only cause him to worry, and bite against his lip. Slipping off his lap, I grip the sides of his pajama pants, hauling them down his legs and pushing them to the side.

"Isa—" A deep groan finishes my name while I sink between his legs, my tongue flattening down his length as I take him deeply into my mouth.

My palm presses against his inner thigh, squeezing in time with my movements, while my free hand trails to cup his balls. Glancing up at him only spurs me further, and I watch his head fall back, his eyes clenched shut with his mouth dropped open. His chest rises and falls deeply as my tongue trails against the underside of his shaft, his fists balled tight.

I slip my hand from his thigh to reach for his hand, guiding it into the back of my neck, where his fingers tentatively graze against my skin. The sensation sends a shiver through me, and I hum around his shaft, taking him back in, feeling him twitch with each stroke of my tongue.

His fingers gently press against my neck, almost as if he's testing himself while I increase the pace. His eyes snap open and lock to mine, his hips rolling forward, while I slide my hand back to his inner thigh, squeezing harder.

"Isabella…"

I know it's a warning, but I ignore it, swirling my tongue around his tip, his hips thrusting forward as I close my mouth around him once more. My name falls from his lips as he pulses and releases, his fingers tugging only slightly on my ponytail, his breaths coming in pants while I eagerly taste him.

My tongue lingers over him, and I feel his muscles relax as he lets out a long, slow breath. Turning my head to nip against his inner thigh, I lean back, staring up at him while he tries to compose himself. His fingers slide from my neck around my shoulder, coaxing me back into his lap, and he wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face against my neck.

I can feel his heart thunder beneath his shirt as I press closer, and I slowly ease my fingers into his hair, holding him to me, not wanting to let him go.

We sit like that for a while, feeling time slipping away from us.

"Isabella?" he finally asks, his lips pressed against my skin.

I close my eyes and press closer. "Mmm…?"

He leans back, adjusting his glasses before tracing his fingers down my cheek. "We need to start thinking about what's going to happen when—"

I silence him, placing my fingers over his lips, quickly shaking my head. "No talking about that."

His brow furrows. "But—"

I press my fingers harder against his lips as he smiles slightly against them. "Shh… Just take me inside and love me."

"I do love you, Isabella," he whispers, resting his forehead against mine. "I love you so much it scares me."

With his words, the floodgates that have been holding back my emotion break open completely, and I feel the tears start to fall.

I frame his face between my hands. "And I love you… more than I thought I could ever love someone." He wipes my tears gently, and I cling to him as if my life depends on him. It kind of feels like it does.

I finally untangle myself from his lap, bending to pick up his pajama pants and extending my free hand to him. "Come with me," I say, trying to mimic his voice. He grins, taking my hand and squeezing it as he stands. "There's a game I want to play… and it's not chess."

_BTN_

"Are you really sure about this?" I ask, standing on the dock and pulling the aging red life preserver over Edward's head.

He nods, adjusting his glasses. "Your father wants to take me fishing. How can I say no?" he whispers, glancing up the dock as I hear dad's laughter drift to me. "He probably wants to discuss my intentions."

I try to hold back a laugh, taking a step back from him. "What is this? 1875? And what intentions? If he wants to know what those are, I'll be happy to tell him you intend to make love to me on the—"

"Isabella!" he hisses as Dad comes to a stop beside me.

In typical fashion, Dad is wearing his faded, beige fishing hat that still has the very first hook I used as a kid stuck to the brim. His red plaid shirt hangs open over one of his many Lodge t-shirts. He says it's his lucky fishing shirt.

He eyes Edward closely before slipping on his sunglasses. "Ready to go there, Edward? It'll be a quick trip. I know you have to take off soon. Jake's getting the plane ready for you, so that should give us a bit more time," he says.

"The plane?" Edwards asks, the color draining from his face. "But we're to drive to Anchorage."

Charlie slaps Edward on the back, thrusting a fishing pole into his hands. "Pfft. That will take a couple hours. This gives you more time… with me." He flashes a smile and chuckles, stepping into the boat and setting his fishing gear down.

Edward looks at the fishing pole as if it's from another planet before glancing down at me. "I guess I'll see you in a while?" he asks nervously.

I laugh, curling up on my toes to press a kiss to his lips. "I'll be here. Catch a big one for me."

He hums, leaning forward. "I've never thrown a fishing pole in my life. What if I do something wrong?" he whispers, a look of momentary panic on his face.

"You can't do anything wrong. It's just fishing, and Dad's a great teacher," I urge, reaching to squeeze his free hand.

Edward nods, looking apprehensively at the boat while Harry ambles his way down the dock, carrying his gear. "Got room for one more?" he calls out as Dad starts the boat.

"Always! Hop in, Harry!" Dad says excitedly, motioning to Edward while Harry places his gear down. He unhooks the back of the boat from the dock and climbs in easily.

"Come on, Edward," Harry says. "I don't bite… much."

Edward grimaces slightly, nodding, and moving to the edge of the dock. He hesitates, looking like he has no idea how to get in. I step forward, taking his fishing pole and passing it to Charlie.

"Behave," I warn him, watching as Edward takes a tentative step in.

Dad smirks at me, setting the pole down with the others. "Always do, kiddo."

I shake my head at Charlie, watching as Edward loses his balance slightly, righting himself before plunking down on one of the seats, gripping the side of the boat for dear life.

I release the knot from the bow, tossing the rope in and pushing it away from the dock, standing at the edge while Dad slowly turns for open water.

Charlie gives a wave over his shoulder to me. "Thanks, Bells! Three go out… let's see how many come back!" he yells before revving the engine.

Edward whips his head to me, a worried look on his face as Charlie takes off across the lake.

I wave from the edge of the dock, smiling and hoping that helps to calm him, watching while the boat disappears around the bend in the lake.

I watch until the waves from the boat fade away completely, and the echo of the engine can no longer be heard. My smile fades, and the steady tightening in my chest that started a few hours ago intensifies slightly as I turn to make my way down the dock.

Our next goodbye won't be this easy.

Chapter end notes:

_Raise Your Glass- _Lyrics byPink, Max Martin, Shellback, 2010

Have you figured out the pattern for Bella's chapters yet? Numberward is handing out gold stars for those who have.

Up next: A fishing trip and a goodbye.

Twitter: CarLemon


	26. Chapter 26

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also made the BTN banner. Check out her latest story: Washed Up. XO BB _

_Many Thanks to Robbsweetangel, my wonderful Twilighted beta. _

_A very special thanks to Lattecoug for betaing this chapter. _

A million thanks to my dear friend and partner in crime, MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. Yes, I am well aware of the space between these chapters. I live it every day as I try to rewrite what I lost. Thank you for your patience.

Let's check in with Edward.

Chapter 26

_**Edward**_

Six – The number of times my hook has gotten snared in Charlie's fishing hat as I make a feeble attempt to cast the rod into the clear waters of Kenai Lake.

He makes it look so easy, and I am reminded, yet again, of how out of my league I am. If I thought being picked last in every single athletic event in my high school life was bad, this is immeasurably worse. I feel less than inadequate.

I also seem to be unable to master the simple act of reeling the line in after Charlie casts it out for me. It's ended up in a tangled mess four times already. Harry has been kind enough to come to my assistance, all the while nattering happily away about the upcoming nuptials between Jacob and Leah.

They both eye me warily as Charlie changes out my lure, expertly fastening a red and white bobber on the end of my line. He opens an old blue cooler at my feet, taking out a small, white Styrofoam container. I furrow my brow, watching as he selects a worm, and threads it onto the hook before casting the line over the side of the boat.

"Let's give this a try, Edward," he says, sharing a smirk with Harry before handing the rod back to me. "Sometimes simple is best."

I nod, pulling down on the bottom of the life preserver before taking the rod once more. I give an involuntary shudder, watching as Charlie sets the worm container down and reaches for a can of beer. He holds it up, offering it to me.

"Ready for a cold one?" he asks seriously.

I swallow thickly. I'm not sure who in the right mind would keep beer and worms in such close proximity. The myriad of potential health risks alone are staggering. I shake my head slowly, resisting the temptation to explain why they should keep the refreshments separate from the bait.

Charlie simply shrugs, tossing the can to Harry who opens it eagerly, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip.

Slowly reeling the line back in, I keep my eyes fixed on the bobber while it bounces across the water, in the hopes that having something to focus on will help calm my nerves.

I suppose it doesn't help matters that my heart has been in my throat since Charlie took off haphazardly from the dock. I'm positive that I've lost years off my life on the chaotic ride to the secluded part of the lake we are currently floating in.

I take a few cleansing breaths, still marveling at how crisp the air is while we sit in awkward silence. The aging boat creaks, the water lapping against the sides as I feel the sun starting to warm me. I scowl at myself for not having the presence of mind to apply sunscreen prior to our departure.

In my defense I was… busy. I smile to myself, feeling the heat rise in my face while my thoughts inevitably float back to Isabella. The way her lips curl ever so slightly when I kiss her, the—

"So…" Charlie starts, breaking me from my wayward thoughts. "All packed and ready to go?"

"Yes, Mr. Sw… Charlie." It still feels strange to refer to Isabella's father by his first name, but he did insist I do so.

"You know my little girl sure is going to miss you," Charlie says, casting his rod expertly out the back of the boat.

"I'm going to miss her as well," I murmur. It's the first time I've admitted that fact out loud to someone other than myself. It's a disconcerting feeling that someone who I've known for only a short period of time can have such a profound effect on me.

I know that she's changed me permanently, and for the better. There are things I will never look at the same way again. Jeopardy, the symphony, chess… I shift uncomfortably in the wooden seat, looking back out to the lazy ripples on the surface of the water.

"Have you thought about…" Charlie's voice fades as I turn to look at him. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Edward. I just don't want to see Bells get hurt. That's happened enough times already."

"I would never want to hurt her," I answer quietly.

Charlie nods at me, apparently satisfied by my answer, before turning his attention back to the water. "Your life in Seattle... does it make you happy?" he asks, launching into what I'm sure is the real reason for the last minute fishing excursion; to inquire as to my intentions with regards to his daughter.

I try to keep focus on the bobber as I contemplate his question, answering the only way I know how. "I have a job and responsibilities to my family, and to the business, of course."

Charlie chuckles, slowly winding the reel in. "And that's how you measure your life? By jobs and responsibilities? Those are just necessities. That's not what makes you happy." He rests the rod on the side of the boat, popping open a beer before continuing. "Happiness is being with people who make you happy and occasionally taking risks. Look at me... I was a hot shot police officer in Anchorage when I met Bella's mom."

I glance over at him as he looks up to the sky wistfully, as if it picturing himself in younger days. "I had a ton of responsibility, and an opportunity to take my career anywhere I wanted it to go. But there was something missing from all of that. _She_ was missing. And so, I did the only thing that made sense for us. People thought I was crazy."

"I still think you are," Harry chimes in, earning a laugh from Charlie before he continues.

"I was in line to be chief of police one day," Charlie continues. My eyes widen at his admission. "I knew it was a risk to move out here and take this on." He gestures in the general direction of the lake with his can of beer. "We were so young, and we had no idea what we were doing when we started this place. But I kind of look at it this way… if you're not willing to take a risk for something you really care about, well...you might as well be dead."

The boat creaks as I adjust my life vest nervously. I detest being in the spotlight, particularly in situations like this when I have no response to Charlie. My life has never been about taking risks.

"Risks?" I ask, my voice cracking slightly. "Everything I've ever done has been calculated. Every possible scenario considered," I try to explain.

"You can't calculate who you're going to meet, or how you fall in love" Harry says after a long silence. "Not everything in life can be planned. You may go down the wrong road. You might get lost in all the twists and turns, and you may wish you took a different one. But if you don't take one of those roads, if you forever stand in the middle where it's safe, you haven't really travelled at all. The unexpected turns in the road are what matters, Edward. You need to open yourself up like that Eagle up there." Harry gestures to the one currently circling the lake. "Take to the sky and see where it leads you."

I stare at Harry, taking in his words, not having an adequate reply. Is that what I've been doing? Standing in the middle, letting life pass me by? I contemplate that for a moment, unsure of the answer. Certainly, this trip has highlighted something that has been lacking from my life, or rather, _someone_ who has been lacking from my life.

But can I just uproot everything I've worked so hard for? Is that what she wants? Is that what_ I_ want? I'm acutely aware that my thoughts and feelings are progressing rapidly when it comes to Isabella. I have decisions to make. Decisions that cannot be made quickly, and certainly not while I'm sitting in this aging boat, attempting quite ineffectively to fish with her father.

Suddenly, the tip of my rod flexes into the smooth water, bending as I feel a distinct tug.

"You got one there?" Charlie asks, turning his head in my direction.

"I... I think I do." I lean back in the seat, losing my balance slightly. The seat was precarious to begin with. I wonder when the last time the boat was serviced, or even cleaned. Judging by the collection of drying leaves and random debris in the bottom, I would say - Another hard tug halts my train of thought on the safety or lack thereof of the boat, and the reel starts to unravel, a whirling sound resulting as it slips in my hand.

"Hold tight!" Harry yells, peering out in the direction of the bobber. "And whatever you do, don't stand –"

Unfortunately, Harry's shouted warning comes too late. Propelled by the less than adequate chair and the surprisingly hard tug, I'm already scrambling to my feet, my heart racing while I lean forward, trying to keep a grip on the rod.

I realize instantly, that was the wrong decision. My feet slip on the debris on the bottom of the boat as I try to reel the line in, and stabilize myself. A sudden and unexpected additional jerk on the line sends me forward, my foot hitting the cooler containing the worms and the beers. I lose my balance completely, my hand in a death grip around the rod as I fall unceremoniously over the side of the boat, and into the lake.

The water is freezing, but the aging life vest does its job, and I'm soon bobbing face up, staring up at Charlie and Harry as they lean over the side of the boat, trying desperately not to burst out laughing.

My free hand reaches for my glasses that sit askew on the bridge of my nose, threatening to fall into the lake. I push them up, lifting my other hand, proud that through the embarrassment of a lifetime, I've somehow managed to hang onto to the fishing rod. I note that whatever succeeded in tugging me out of the boat and into the icy waters has snapped the line and is probably laughing as it swims away to safety.

"First rule of fishing, Edward. Don't stand up in the boat," Harry deadpans as Charlie holds his hand out to me.

Kicking my legs in the frigid water, I float over to the boat, awash with embarrassment.

"Yes," I manage wryly, as Charlie hauls my soaking body back in. "That would have been useful information to have prior to our departure."

_BTN_

Isabella's arms wrap around me from behind, her cheek pressed against my back between my shoulders as she giggles softly.

"I wish I could have been there," she murmurs into my soaked shirt.

"Yes. That's what I needed- more people to laugh at me," I reply.

She tightens her arms around me. "Not to laugh at you, silly. To be with you. It couldn't have been easy for you." I feel her press a kiss against my shoulder, and I let out a sigh.

I turn around in her arms, wrapping mine own around her, resting my forehead on hers. "I'm sorry, Isabella. I know that's what you meant. I didn't mean to imply—"

Her fingers press over my lips, silencing me. She lifts up on her toes, the pad of her index finger tracing my bottom lip. "Sometimes, you talk too much. Has anyone ever told you that?" she asks, her eyes fixed on my mouth.

I feel the now familiar pull, drawing me to her faster and tighter each time I'm with her. "Not exactly, no. I've never really spent enough time around— "This time, it's her lips that hungrily press to mine, coaxing me backwards to the bed.

"Less talking, more kissing," she mumbles tugging at my saturated shirt.

I smile against her lips. Who am I to argue?

_BTN_

"There were only a few pieces of correspondence that I didn't get to," I explain while Isabella leans into my side at the dining room table.

As much as I want to stop time, unfortunately it marches on for all of us, whether we are ready for it to or not. After a few final stolen hours with the woman who has changed me so completely in such a short period of time, it's time to go.

I can hear Emmett's muted laughter, drifting in through the screen door while the group waits on the dock beside Jacob's plane. It's been floating in the water, ready to go for forty-seven painful minutes. Why does time seem to go so quickly when you need it not to?

"I'm sure I can figure most of it out," she states tentatively.

I raise an eyebrow in response, glancing down at her, and her heartfelt laughter fills the room.

"Okay, so maybe not. But it gives you an excuse to come back," she offers, her fingers lacing with mine and squeezing.

I look down at our intertwined fingers, raising her hand to kiss the back. "And there's Jacob's wedding as well," I add, brushing her hair behind her shoulder, trying to commit the feeling to memory.

"Exactly! See? It won't be long at all," she says, leaning up, her lips sweeping over mine.

I nod, desperate to feel her one last time, my arm wrapping around her waist as I ease her closer. With my heart in my throat, I start the conversation we both have been dreading having. "Isabella, the time we've spent together has been—"

The muffled sound of a ringing phone breaks my thoughts and she sighs, shaking her head. "Keep going," she urges, her fingers tightening around mine, looking up at me expectantly.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to find the words to explain to her what she means to me. "It's been— "As if on cue, the phone continues its abhorrent assault from somewhere unseen. "You better get that," I mutter, taking a step back from her.

"Hold that thought!" she says, grinning at me as she scans the room, looking for the lost device. "Where is it?" She leans over the back of the couch, her shirt riding up her back to reveal a sliver of skin that produces a visceral result that seems automatic now. "Ah ha!" My eyes stay fixed on her back, and I chuckle as she pulls out the phone triumphantly from the cushions, waving it at me.

She answers with a giggle and I turn away from her to give her privacy, my eyes falling to my waiting luggage in the entry way. My heart sinks immediately, my hand raking through my hair as I try to calm my wayward thoughts.

I am so out of my element here. How can I properly convey to Isabella what she means to me? How can I tell her how scared I really am of losing her once I leave? How do long distance relationships work? Can they? Is it even possible? This is the kind of risk Charlie was talking about today. But is it one that I can take? Am I just convincing myself that this is more than what it really is?

"Eric?" Her voice raises several octaves, breaking my mini attempt at an analysis of the situation I've gotten myself into.

I turn my head to her as she says the name. The enthusiasm in her voice is hard to ignore. I remember that name, very distinctly. Moving back to the table, I pick up the stack of colored envelopes, turning each of them over, before I find the one I'm looking for.

I run my index finger over her script on the back of the yellow envelope.

_Eric - September, 21, 2011 - Cute. Plays guitar. What about Angela? _

"Oh my God! You're coming?" she practically squeals with excitement, my brow furrowing as I try to piece together just who Eric and the others could be.

As with the rest of the envelopes, there is a tiny picture next to his name. This one appears to be a rudimentary version of the Statue of Liberty. I note there are also a series of hearts and stars drawn around his name. It makes me feel even more uneasy than I already am.

"I miss you too." Isabella's voice drops lower and my heart sinks further. I can feel it thundering in my ears as I glance at the envelope and then to her. Studying her features, her face lights up as she moves to the window, leaning against it, and continuing her conversation.

I have no idea what she's saying. I think I've shut out everything but the nagging voice in my head; the one that has been put there after years of insecurity. The one that tells me someone like me could never be with someone like her. The one which whispers that perhaps I'm just another Eric, another Shawn, another Harry.

"Bro! Booty call is over. You'll see her in like a couple of weeks, man. We gotta jet!" Emmett's booming voice drifts through the open window, and I shake my head at his Neanderthal tendencies. Still, the irony is not lost on me that it is Emmett who is the one on time and waiting for me.

Shaking my head, I set the envelopes in a pile on the table, moving slowly to my luggage, one single thought in my head. I need to go home. Distance… distance will help me think clearly. Right now, I'm well aware that I'm lacking the ability to think rationally as long as Isabella is in my presence.

I lift my luggage, letting myself gaze upon her, a myriad of emotions coursing through me. Confusion, longing, sadness, but overwhelmingly, love. It's not an emotion I'm used to. I realize now, that what I felt for Jessica was not even in the same vicinity. I also realize that I am in way over my head.

She turns to me, her face falling as she spots my luggage, her eyes darting up to lock with mine. "I'm going to have to call you back, Eric," she says, moving towards me. "Okay… me too. Bye."

She lets the phone fall to the coffee table as she hops over it, running to close the distance between us. She throws herself into my torso, her arms wrapping around my neck.

I close my eyes, my free hand sliding around her waist, steadying us both as I bury my face into her hair, breathing her in. "I have to go," I whisper, trying to commit to memory the way she smells, the curve of her back, how her body molds to mine.

I feel her tighten her arms around me. "I don't want you to," she chokes out.

I pull back slightly, adjusting my glasses, my eyes staring back into hers, lifting my finger to brush away the tears staining her cheeks. "Think about whether this is really what you want, Isabella."

She sinks her fingers into my hair, tugging as her brow furrows. "I don't need to think about it. I know," she says firmly.

"No. You don't know. How can you possibly?"

She takes my hand, resting it above her heart. "I know you're in here. I go with my heart."

"That hasn't worked too well for you in the past." I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips. She takes a quick breath in, more tears falling. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean for that to come out that way," I ramble.

She cups my face between her hands. "I know you didn't. But thinking with your head doesn't always work either, Edward," she whispers through her tears. "I may wear my heart on my sleeve, and yes, I have gotten hurt doing it, but I'm willing to do that when it's worth the risk. And you're worth that risk. I'm willing to take it for you... _with_ you."

"Isabella…" She presses her lips to mine gently and I answer the kiss, pouring all that I have into it. All the questions, all the doubt, all the insecurity of a lifetime vanishes, if only for a moment.

All too soon, she is gently pulling away, weaving her fingers through mine and blinking back the tears. She takes a deep breath, tugging me to the door and I follow along, holding her hand tightly.

We emerge to catcalls from Jasper and Emmett. I simply roll my eyes, shaking my head as we make our way to the dock.

Rosalie and Alice envelope Isabella in a group hug, whispering things I'm not meant to hear while my heart hammers. The plane whirls to life, causing me to jump slightly while Emmett and Jasper each take turns saying their goodbyes to Isabella.

Jacob appears from inside the plane, propping open the door and holding out his hand for my luggage. "Let's get a move on, Eddie. There's a storm coming in and I don't want to get caught in it on the way back," he says as I pass him my bag.

"Storm?" I ask warily, feeling the blood drain from my face. I cannot believe I'm about to get back on this death trap voluntarily.

I feel Isabella's hand slide into mine, her body pressing into my side. I squeeze her hand while Emmett and Jasper help Rosalie and Alice into the plane, climbing in behind them.

Turning to face her, I raise her hand over my heart. "You're in here too, Isabella."

She nods, blinking back unshed tears as I press my lips gently to hers. "I'm not saying goodbye. I refuse to. I'm just saying I love you," she murmurs.

I brush her hair back, placing one last shaky kiss to her lips before releasing her. "And I love you, Isabella. No goodbyes."

The tears that were threatening behind her red rimmed eyes fall freely as I let go of her hand, stepping into the plane.

Emmett pats me on the back, and I sink into the seat beside him. He passes me a life vest, and to his utter shock, I wave it off. Turning my head to the window, I press my palm against it while Jacob navigates the plane away from the dock.

Isabella holds her palm up to me, her hair blowing as I feel Emmett's hand gripping my shoulder.

"Here we go!" Jacob shouts over the deafening sound of the engine, maneuvering the plane to the middle of the lake.

My hand stays pushed against the window, my neck craning to keep my eyes locked to hers while Jacob propels his de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver across calm waters of Kenai Lake.

As the plane enters air space, Cooper Landing Lodge disappears from view and my stomach plummets while we soar into the cloudy sky.

One heart- Staying firmly on the ground with Isabella as I feel my own tears start to fall.

Chapter end notes:

Up next: Does distance help our Numberward figure some things out?

Twitter: CarLemon


	27. Chapter 27

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta __xrxdanixrx. Check out her latest story: Washed Up. XO BB _

_A very special thanks to the wonderful Lattecoug for betaing this chapter. _

_Many Thanks to Robbsweetangel, my wonderful Twilighted beta. _

A million thanks to my dear friend and partner in crime, MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who are reading, reviewing, and recommending this little story. Yes, I am well aware of the space between these chapters. I live it every day as I try to rewrite what I lost. Thank you for your patience. One more to go as long as my OCD editing cooperates.

Let's check in with Edward.

_Edward_

Chapter 27

"Edward?" I am vaguely aware of Emmett's steady grip on my shoulder, nudging me back to reality. Not that I'm sure what that is anymore. I look up at him before taking in my surroundings. Dark blue cabin seats in front and behind me, impatient passengers who are weary from travelling and buzzing about as they scramble to be first in line to exit. I'm still on the plane.

I adjust my glasses, glancing out the tiny oval window to my right, wondering if perhaps I've dreamt the entirety of the last twelve days.

"We're home, man," Emmett says rather quietly, furrowing his brow at me. He has a look of concern set on his face like he used to get in high school, when he would find me in some precarious situation that he would have to deal with and rescue me from.

I nod, my head feeling oddly fuzzy as I methodically start to move through the process of packing up. I feel my face heat under the scrutiny of my travelling companions. I know they are watching me. I must look like an utter fool.

I slowly slide my unopened _Accounting Comes Alive_ paperback into my laptop carry-on bag. I had hoped to get through most of it on the flight as it promises to be an intriguing read, focusing on the impact of the Color Accounting system on the financial analysis of data. Instead, I spent the entirety of the trip with it gripped tightly in my hand, staring blankly at the cover.

With the book stored away, I double check the overhead bin and find a black, cropped jacket. I recognize it and turn to hold it up, glancing at Alice. "Yours?"

"Oh, God! Thanks, Edward!" She practically squeals as I hand it over. "Imagine if I would have forgotten this!" She launches herself across the aisle at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and hugging me tightly. Apparently, it's an important jacket for her. "You're going to be okay," she whispers against my ear, and I furrow my brow at her reaction, glancing up at Jasper who just shoots me his usual loop sided smile.

The truth is, no matter what Alice or anyone else tries to convince me of, I don't know how I'm going to be. I don't know how I'm _supposed _to be anymore. I had my life mapped out; at least I thought I did. Can a single person change what you thought you wanted in such a short period of time?

One thing is certain. I won't be finding the answers in the middle of the first class aisle on Air Northern. Having double checked beneath the seats, and satisfied that we aren't leaving anything behind, I drape my overcoat across my arm, pick up my laptop bag, and follow along behind Emmett as he leads us off the plane and through the jet-way.

Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, as if I'm in a thick haze of some sort. My legs feel heavier than they should as I dutifully join the queue of passengers en-route to the luggage return.

Voices sound like mere echoes and I feel my head start to spin slightly as my heart hammers a rapid beat, a thin sheen of sweat breaking across my brow. I recognize the tell-tale signs of an oncoming panic attack, and wisely sink down into one of the black, steel chairs in the baggage area as we await our luggage.

Ignoring the worried glances of Emmett and hushed whispers of Rosalie, I stare vacantly at the luggage belt as it whirls to life, my eyes skimming up to the red flashing light above the carousel. It is hypnotic in a way; the red light spinning slowly, signaling the oncoming luggage that has been manhandled from the plane.

I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and lean forward, resting my forehead in my hands. This feels wrong. Maybe I'm coming down with something. Lord knows the infusion of stale, dry air on the plane is likely ridden with more germs than anyone would ever want to know about.

I take a few cleansing breaths, watching as passengers are greeted by loved ones with open arms and wide smiles. People are genuinely missed when they are gone. The realization dawns that with the exception of my mother and father, I'm traveling with everyone who would have even thought to miss me.

I watch as Jasper hauls copious amounts of Alice's coordinated luggage from the carousel. Alice looks on, pointing to the correct bag and clapping when he pulls each one free, giving him a rewarding kiss on the cheek when his task is finished. It's a simple gesture, one that most people would not even notice, but the look on Jasper's face when her lips touch his cheek is one of pure adoration.

My thoughts drift back to Isabella and the look on her face as Jacob's plane took off from the dock. It's a haunting visual that will not be escaping my memory any time soon.

"Ready, Edward?" Rosalie's voice stirs me from my thoughts and I nod, looking up at her before pushing to stand on less than steady legs.

The four of them exchange knowing looks, but wisely choose to keep their thoughts to themselves for the time being. Jasper rolls my suitcase to my side, clapping me on the back before returning to push the luggage cart, piled high with Alice's bags.

With worried words left unspoken, we make our way quietly to the parking garage and back to the reality of Seattle.

_BTN_

The echoing thud of the wooden door fills the front foyer as it shuts behind me. I stand, still feeling slightly light headed, staring down the hallway of my empty apartment.

I used to enjoy silence, actually craved it, but now, as I wheel my luggage over the pristine hardwood floors, it just feels empty – devoid of any feeling whatsoever. Devoid of life. Devoid of her. How can I miss someone who has never even been here?

I wonder what Isabella would think of my apartment in all of its starkness. I recall describing it to her as beige and empty. I can't help the smile that breaks across my face thinking of the sheer chaos that is her home; utter disarray, and yet so completely her.

Stopping to hang my overcoat in the closet, I look up to the perfectly placed labeled wicker baskets on the shelf above the rod. Everything is in its place, right where it's supposed to be. _Predictability, order, expectation._ Just as I like it. It also doesn't smell like pine needles as the closet in my room at the Lodge did. It doesn't smell like anything at all.

The memory of opening up Isabella's closet only to have the contents rain down upon me comes rushing back, and I close the door to the closet quickly.

Is every action I take moving forward going to remind me of her?

Making my way to my bedroom, I lift the suitcase to the middle of the bed with my laptop bag. I slowly open the zipper on my luggage, wondering how badly things have wrinkled during the flight.

I begin the process of unpacking, happy to have something to focus on. Surprisingly, everything seems to be relatively intact under the stretched elastic that holds my clothing in place.

Reaching for my toiletry bag, I move to my ensuite bath, switching on the light and setting the contents back in their rightful places. My hand falls to a bottle of _Gummie Vite_s, and my heart stops beating as I turn it over in my hand.

As I know I did not take these from Isabella's bathroom vanity, there can be only one other plausible explanation. Isabella has placed these in my bag herself. I slowly unscrew the lid and pop two red bears into my mouth, chewing them up as my eyes focus on my reflection in the mirror.

I don't look any different. It's the same Edward staring back at me; glasses slightly askew on the bridge of my nose, my hair sticking up and unruly from the plane ride, my cheeks slightly flushed, no doubt from the near panic attack that I managed to ward off at the airport. It's just me, so why do I feel so different?

Shaking my head and removing my toothbrush from its travel holder, I reach for the tube of _Crest_, squeeze a dollop on, and slowly brush my teeth. I wonder if there is anything worse than the stale feeling in your mouth after a plane ride.

As I stare back at my reflection, the memory of the strange _Cinnamon Rush Crest _that Isabella uses comes crashing back to me. I wish that she would have packed that into my toiletry bag. I make a mental note to look for it tomorrow at the drug store.

Teeth brushing finished, I wipe out the sink with a fresh hand towel, switch off the light and move back to the bed to complete the process of unpacking. It's a relatively easy task, as I will be sending most of the clothing for dry cleaning in the morning.

I separate the remaining items into the proper dark and light laundry baskets in the closet, placing three pairs of unworn socks back into the drawer. I hang up two sweater vests that I never got around to wearing back in the closet alongside my others.

I take note that one of my grey Hanes t-shirts has somehow gone missing, and I wonder idly where I left it. I don't recall missing one when I double checked my packing.

My mind wanders, and I smile to myself, allowing a fleeting moment where I imagine Isabella secretly taking it from my luggage so she could have it. Shaking that ridiculous notion off, I reach for a pair of wrinkled khaki slacks that are in desperate need of pressing.

I lift them from the luggage, my eyes falling to a silver tin with the label _Polar Bear Kisses_. The slacks slip from my hand as I pick up the mysterious tin, my heart thundering while I turn it over. My fingers brush over a pink colored note taped to the side with what I recognize as Isabella's unique script.

**Edward-**

**These are my favorite. I bought them while we were at the Alaska Wild Berry Store.**

**I hope you remember and that you like them.**

**XO- B**

Beside her initial, there is a little picture that she has drawn of what seems to be a crude version of a trolley, much like the one we took when we completed our tour. I feel my knees give out and I sink to the bed, turning the tin over repeatedly in my hand as I try to calm my racing heart.

She _hopes _I remember? Is she serious? I remember every single moment I spent with her. The better question is, does she?

Twisting open the lid and examining the bite-sized wrapped pieces of chocolate, it suddenly dawns on me that I haven't heard from her since we landed. Setting the tin on the bed and reaching for my laptop bag, I fish my cell phone out and switch it on, wondering if she's been trying to call.

While I wait for the cell phone Gods to connect me back to civilization, my eyes fall to my answering machine on the nightstand. My glimmer of hope that she would actually try my home number is quickly dashed when I don't see a red light flashing… no messages. Still, I press the message button anyway, just in case.

The room echoes with the computer generated female voice.

"You have no messages."

Yes, thank you for clarifying the obvious. You would think I would have learned by now to keep my expectations low.

Turning my attention back to my cell phone, I frown at the lack of text messages or voice mail. I'm not sure what I was assuming would happen. It's not as if we arranged a certain time to correspond with each other. Nevertheless, I think she would probably appreciate knowing that we have arrived home safely.

I set the tin down on the bed, take a deep breath, and scroll through my ten contacts until I find her number and gently press the call button.

Pacing slowly at the end of my bed, I listen to one, two, and then three rings, before my breathing hitches at the sound of her recorded voice.

"Hey, it's Bella. Leave a message and I'll call you back."

Panicking slightly and having absolutely no idea what to say, I fumble with the phone, dropping it to the floor in the process. I scramble down to the carpet, picking it up and miraculously finding the cancel button, effectively ending my mortification.

I've managed to embarrass myself with no one else even in the room. That is a first.

Sitting with my back against the footboard of the bed, I ponder for a moment where she could be. I stare back at the time on my phone. It would be 8:35 pm there. She's probably moving into the dessert service for dinner. I hope my call hasn't interrupted her preparations. I wonder if she's having to work the kitchen by herself again.

Raking my fingers through my hair in sheer frustration, I decide in a bold move to call the main number of the Lodge. My heart hammers faster when a man's voice answers.

"Cooper Landing Lodge. You got Charlie here."

I hesitate for a minute as my palms sweat, sitting up straighter against the footboard.

"Hello?" I hear a loud banging echo through my ear, causing me to move the phone away before his voice floats to me again. "Hello?"

"Mr. Sw… er… Charlie? It's Edward… Edward Cullen? I'm not sure if you remember me, but-"

"Edward! How was the flight?" he starts. "Damn, I wish Bells was here. I know she would want to talk to you," he rambles on as I feel the blood drain from my face.

"Pardon?" My voice comes out as a whisper. "She's not… she's not there?" I stammer, furrowing my brow in confusion. "Is the restaurant closed this evening?"

"No, no. I'm running the kitchen tonight. She's gone out with Eric and a few others. I think they went down to Seward to catch a movie." Charlie continues to ramble on, but honestly, I have absolutely no idea what he's saying. I think I stopped hearing everything after the words "she's gone out with Eric."

Eric, who made her face light up with sheer joy just from a mere phone call earlier today. Eric, who Isabella herself described on the back of that yellow envelope as "cute."

Pushing myself up from the floor and sinking onto the bed, my eyes fall to the note affixed to the tin, and the little picture of the trolley she has drawn. She drew the Statue of Liberty for Eric, with hearts and stars around it.

My stomach turns as my mind races to places that I know it shouldn't; to the envelopes and the little drawings and the descriptions of faceless men, all of whom have some sort of connection with Isabella important enough to cause her to take the time to draw meaningful pictures beside their names. Or maybe none of them are important at all. Maybe _I'm_ not important at all.

"Edward?" Charlie's deep, gruff voice brings me back to reality, and I mentally kick myself for being so inconsiderate on the phone. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, Charlie. I think I may have a bit of jet leg," I lie. "Please accept my apologies. I'm going to try to get some rest."

He hesitates for a moment, probably pondering why a grown man needs rest at such an early hour in the evening before he speaks again. "I'm glad you're home safely, Edward. I'll let Bells know that you called."

"Thank you, Charlie. I appreciate it," I manage, ending the call and letting the phone slip from my hand onto my beige duvet cover. I shouldn't feel upset or hurt that she is not waiting with baited breath for me to call, but senselessly, I am.

Time passes as I stare blankly at Isabella's note, trying unsuccessfully to rationalize my feelings. There doesn't seem to be any logical explanation that I can come up with that would help to clarify who these random men are, and the more I think about it, the worse it makes me feel.

I have absolutely no reason to be jealous of a situation that I know nothing about, and which is, quite frankly, none of my business. It is not as if Isabella and I are… together in any serious committed relationship. It was just twelve days. I shake my head, knowing that despite the fact that it was only twelve days, it has permanently changed me.

If only I had just stuck to the plan.

_BTN_

Ironing calms me. It now also reminds of Isabella. As I press my khaki slacks, flashes of the last twelve days come back to me. The aging ironing board in my room at the Lodge with bears on the cover. The panoramic view out the window as I ironed my clothing upon arrival. The fact that I never saw Isabella iron once during the entire time we were there. I wonder if she even owns an iron. The thought makes my smile. I highly doubt that she does.

My view as I iron is not nearly as breathtaking as it was in Alaska. The Seattle skyline is coming to life as night descends. I guess some people may find it nice to look at. I can think of infinitely better views, all of which are currently a little over one thousand nine hundred and seventy miles away.

After storing the ironing board back in the utility closet and hanging up my slacks in the closet, I remove my traveling attire, setting it into the proper laundry baskets. I pull a fresh, grey Hanes t-shirt from my chest of drawers, sliding it on before making my way to the right side of the bed.

Double checking my alarm is set for morning, I remove my glasses, set them on the nightstand and stretch out on my back. I immediately appreciate the thread count of my sheets as they fall over me. That may be the one thing I have actually missed.

Staring up at the ceiling, I try to calm my racing thoughts. I know that I am in desperate need of an appropriate sleep if I am to function properly tomorrow. I have to complete costing for a new job that Jasper has secured, and I need to have all of my faculties intact in order to accurately provide pricing to our new client.

I close my eyes, taking a series of deep, cleansing breaths, my hand sliding across the empty space beside me. Turning on my side, my eyes open to the vacant spot and I allow myself to imagine, if just for a moment, that Isabella is here, curled up next to me, her leg tangled up with mine, her arm securely wrapped around my middle, her cheek pressed close to my chest.

I wonder if she'll be thinking about me when she climbs into bed tonight. With a heavy heart, I close my eyes and try to sleep.

_BTN_

"I'll send the official quotation to you later on this afternoon, Mrs. Thompson." I shake her manicured hand once more as she once again asks for me to call her Jennifer.

While I gather my laptop bag, she passes me a blueberry muffin which she tells me she's made herself. She seems very proud of this fact, which makes me wonder just how much baking Mrs…er… Jennifer actually does. Given the fact that Emmett has referred to her as, and I quote, "a trophy wife," I don't think she's doing much.

Jennifer and Mike Thompson live in the penthouse of one of the most exclusive and expensive high rises in Seattle. Mike is a successful publisher who owns several magazines and controlling interest in many other media related businesses.

According to Emmett, Jennifer doesn't seem to have a job, other than spending Mike's money. She wears entirely too much make-up, and looks as if she has spent far too long in a tanning bed recently. In addition, I've started sneezing since I've arrived, and I think it is likely due to the copious amounts of heavy perfume that waft from her general direction.

I've given Jennifer a quick estimate for the redesign of her living room, office, and kitchen. Strangely, they all look to have been recently done within the last year, so I'm slightly confused as to why they want to renovate, but it's not my place to ask.

She has said that money is no object, and I have assured her she will get the best possible pricing from us. Endless amounts of money or not, no one should have to overpay for anything in my opinion.

Jennifer clutches Princess, her miniature white Maltese under her arm as she waves at me while I wait for the elevator. Princess has been horrifically dressed in a little pink tutu, and has spent the last half hour yipping at me as I take measurements around the museum-like penthouse.

After nattering on about the unseasonably warm weather we've been having, Jennifer holds up Princess' paw and tells her to say goodbye to me. Princess let out a shrill, high pitched bark as the elevator doors close.

I stare at the questionable blueberry muffin while the elevator whisks me down to the lobby. I feel slightly guilty for being leery about trying it. I've only had one of Mrs. Cope's organic granola bars during my scheduled snack break early this morning, and I'm due to meet Emmett and Jasper for our Thursday work-out tomorrow at 6:30pm, so the extra calories would be burned off then. Surely I should at least take a bite.

The elevator doors open, and I make my way through to the revolving door of the building and into the warm Seattle afternoon. I adjust my laptop bag over my shoulder and tentatively take a bite of the muffin.

I stop in my tracks as the horrendous flavor invades my taste buds. My hand shoots up to my mouth as I look around quickly for a place to inconspicuously get rid of the sheer disaster that is currently occupying my mouth. It tastes as if it is several days old, and I wonder if in fact it is a blueberry muffin, or just a moldy one.

Spotting a garbage bin down the street, I stride towards it, looking over my shoulder before spitting the bite out and tossing the remnants of the muffin into the bin. I desperately need something to wash this taste out, and soon.

Scowling at the fact that I did not bring my PBA-free water bottle with me, I make my way down the street towards a welcoming _Starbucks_ sign.

Standing in the long queue, I retrieve my phone from the front pouch of my laptop bag, switching it on. It pained me to have to turn it off for the appointment, fearing I would miss a call from Isabella, but I would never want to interrupt a meeting with a client by the rudeness of taking a personal call.

I frown when I see the only missed calls are from Emmett and my mother. Expectation truly is the root of all evil.

Shuffling along in line, I finally make it to the register, ordering an _Ethos_ bottled water which costs me $1.85. Normally, I would never pay this kind of price for water, but a portion of the profits go to charity, and if I do not get something to wash this taste out of my mouth, I'm know with certainty that I will vomit. Jennifer needs to find a hobby other than baking.

Moving to a vacant table, I set my laptop bag and cell phone down, sinking into the chair. I quickly twist the top off and take several long sips of the water, closing my eyes as the rancid taste gradually washes away.

Keeping the water close, I stare out the window into the busy street, watching as people bustle about their day. Everyone looks so tense, and in an extreme hurry to get wherever they are going. Cell phones are propped up against ears, and people are weaving their way swiftly through the afternoon crowd, often bumping into each other.

It's a far cry from where I was twenty-four hours ago. This used to be my normality, but as I watch the scene outside, I wonder if it really still is. I feel like a stranger to my own life.

Taking another sip of water, my phone buzzes from the table, my eyes falling to the display screen. My heart hammers when I see the number, and I practically drop the water in an effort to answer.

Managing not to spill any water, I set the bottle in the middle of the table and whisk the phone into my hand, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Isabella?"

"Edward!" My eyes slide shut at the sound of her melodic and excited voice. "Oh my God!" I hear what sounds like a sniffle through the phone and my heart pounds faster.

"Are you alright?"

I hear her giggle. "Yes! Yes! Oh my God! I'm so happy to hear your voice! I feel so awful. I went out last night and I couldn't find my phone—"

I smile, sitting up straighter in the chair. "Was it in the sofa?"

Her laughter floats to me, causing me to smile. "How did you know?" she asks, happily.

"That's where you found it yesterday." _When Eric called._ I think, but don't say those particular words.

"It was?"

I chuckle, imagining the look on her face. She's probably furrowing her brow in confusion. "Yes. It was. You bent over the sofa and fished it out from between the cushions," I explain, recalling clearly the visual in my mind.

"Huh. Well, anyway, I had no idea where it was, and Jake was dragging me out the door. I just found it now!" she says animatedly.

I smile wider at her enthusiasm over the found cell phone. It's as if she has won the lottery. "I'm glad that you found it."

"I miss you," she says quietly after a pause. "I couldn't sleep at all last night. It was super late when we got home and I was going to call, but—"

"That's okay, Isabella. I understand," I say, flatly, regretting my words and my tone quickly.

"What does that mean - you understand?"

"Just that I know you were… indisposed last evening, and we didn't have a scheduled call," I clarify.

"Am I supposed to schedule calls with you?" she asks, sounding slightly annoyed.

"No. Of course not. You can call me whenever you like."

"Then why do I think there's problem?" she asks quietly.

I sigh, taking a deep breath, deciding to just come out with it. I've gotten less than four hours of extremely restless sleep thinking about the multitude of possibilities, and I fear the same for tonight if I don't confront this head on. "I'm going to ask you a question. It's something that is none of my business, but I've done absolutely nothing but think about it since yesterday."

"You can ask me anything, Edward," she says encouragingly.

"You may not like this question," I state, clearly stalling.

"I'm not exactly liking how you're getting to the question," she says, teasing.

I rake my hand through my hair. "I'm sorry," I offer quietly.

"It's just me, Edward. Remember? Bella… I haven't changed since I saw you yesterday," she says gently. "I wish I was there. It feels like I need to hold you."

I close my eyes, smiling at her words. "I wish you were here too. No… I don't. I wish _I was there."_

I hear her take a quick breath in at my words. "You do?"

I nod. "Yes. I know you say you haven't changed since yesterday, but _I_ have. Everything is different for me now. It doesn't even feel like this is same place that I left," I confess.

"Edward…"

"Who is Eric?" I blurt out.

"What?" There is a long pause as I wait for her to answer. "Who do you think he is?" she asks calmly.

"I have absolutely no idea. I've thought of several different scenarios, none of which seem to make sense," I admit.

"You've thought of scenarios?" she asks in disbelief.

I cringe at the tone of her voice. She's clearly upset with me, and I don't blame her. I have absolutely no right to be asking about anyone in Isabella's life.

"Can we just… forget that I asked? I've not slept well, and—"

"No," she interrupts, loudly. "No, we cannot just forget that you asked. What is this all about, Edward? I can't help with whatever issue you're having if I don't understand what you're thinking."

"Isabella, please…"

"You're kind of freaking me out here," she says firmly.

I feel my stomach turn at her words. "That wasn't my intention. This is just… me and my… insecurities," I mumble.

"What? Edward, I don't understand. Insecurities about what?"

"About… me."

"You have nothing to be insecure about. Do you remember me telling you that I love you?" she asks seriously.

I nod, even though she can't see me. "Of course I do. It was the best moment of my life."

I hear her breathing hitch. "It was?"

"Isabella, I'm not the type of man who is going to hear that very often, particularly from a woman like you," I say softly.

"What do you mean – a woman like me?"

"I mean a beautiful, kind-hearted, amazing woman. You are life changing, Isabella."

"Edward." Her voice is quiet and I'm fairly certain I can hear her muffling a cry, which makes me feel infinitely worse about the situation I've gotten myself into.

"Please don't cry, Isabella. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Yes, you should have. You should always say what you feel," she declares passionately.

_Okay then_. "I'm jealous of Eric."

"Jealous? Why?"

"Of him and Shawn and Harry and the others," I admit, my voice almost a whisper.

"What others? I don't-"

"You had their names on the back of some correspondence on your dining room table. And you had drawn pictures beside their names, and I thought…"

"Wait, what exactly did you think?" she asks, her voice rising.

"That maybe they were… boyfriends of yours." There. I've said it. My insecurity laid out to bear for the woman who I have fallen in love with. I think I've stopped breathing altogether as I wait for her response.

"That's what you think of me? That I have a string of boyfriends and just leave out their names on my table for anyone to see?"

"There are a lot of things on your table, Isabella." Even though this is a true statement, I recognize that I probably shouldn't have picked this particular moment to point it out to her.

"Stop talking," she blurts out.

"But-"

"Stop. Talking."

"I'm-"

"Do you not hear what I'm saying?" she asks, her voice elevated in anger.

I bite my lip to stop from apologizing.

"You listen to me, Edward Cullen," she starts angrily and I feel my body coil inward at her words. "I. Love. You." She pauses for a moment. "I love you. Only you. There could never be anyone who makes me feel the way you do, or at least the way you did until you just basically called me a slut."

"What? No! I-"

"Stop. Talking!" she shouts in frustration. "I'd really like to get my hands around the throat of that Jessica who did a number on you," she continues, almost growling. "She's the reason you're feeling like this… Like you can't trust me."

"That's not-"

"Edward! Let me finish, please."

I wisely keep my teeth planted into my bottom lip to prevent another mistake of interrupting her. How she hasn't hung up the phone at my blatant lack of respect for her is a miracle. I am mortified beyond belief at myself. I simply cannot believe I have openly revealed to her what I was thinking. She must be livid with me, and I deserve whatever words she is about to speak.

"I'm glad that you found those envelopes," she states firmly as my brow furrows. "They were people I wanted to invite dad's fiftieth birthday surprise party."

My mouth drops open at her admission. "But why didn't you just have a spreadsheet or a list of invites that-" I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from talking, hoping she doesn't hang up on me for interjecting yet again.

"This is _me_. Have you forgotten the sheer disaster that is my entire life? I don't keep lists or spreadsheets or anything organized. You of all people know that better than anyone else. And Eric, Shawn and I went to high school together. Their parents are friends of Charlie's. They were all over at our place all the time. Charlie watched them grow up. And Harry… well you went fishing with Harry. He's Dad's best friend."

"But you said he was sweet and funny on the envelope."

"Because he is!" she exclaims. "But the fact that you immediately thought they were boyfriends doesn't really give me a whole lot of confidence in who you think I am as a person. It's insulting, to be honest. Is that who you think I am? Some slut who has a string of boyfriends? Did the last two weeks mean nothing to you?"

I wince at her words, my eyes squeezing shut as I wait for her to continue. The silence on the phone is deafening as I try to calm my breathing and not pass out.

"You can talk now," she says quietly.

There's so much I wish to say to her. I'd like to have time to write down my response so I don't mess up the words. Knowing there is no time for that, I simply tell her what is in my heart. "Isabella, the last twelve days were beyond my wildest imagination. I love you. I've never felt this way about anyone. I never meant to hurt you or to imply that you were… promiscuous," I say firmly. "This actually isn't about you… it's about me. I've lived my whole life in a state of order and logic, where everything makes sense, and then- I meet you, and suddenly nothing makes sense anymore. I'm not handsome or charismatic or any of things that I think women are looking for. I'm not someone a beautiful woman like you would be with. The fact that you spent even more than five minutes in my presence is shocking to me. And you say that's Jessica talking… maybe part of it is, but I've lived my life in a place where I'm not the one anyone picks… for anything. So when I saw the names and your drawings, I just thought maybe I'm not enough."

"Edward, she starts, her voice pained.

"I believe it my turn to talk," I say gently, hearing her chuckle and sniff in response. "When I saw all of that, my mind went off in a direction of what ifs. I was wrong and I should have just come right out while I there and asked you, but I didn't. I can't turn the clock back and even if I could, I'm not sure I would have done anything differently." I take a deep breath before continuing. "I'm always going to question if I'm enough for you. That may fade over time, but I think there will always be a part of me that doubts myself. I wish I could tell you that was different, and that I'm all of a sudden this confident person who is sure of himself, but I would be lying. I can only ask that you forgive me, Isabella. I have a whole host of issues, some of which you are just starting to seeing the surface of. I would understand if you didn't wish to deal with that. I know that I'm a difficult person." I let out a long breath, leaning back in the chair and wishing that I could see her face. This is the conversation we should have had when I was there, not over the phone where distance and time separates us.

Hearing another sniffle, I try to ready myself for rejection.

"Come back to me," she chokes out.

I let her words sink in for moment before I try to speak, and when I do, it's just a stuttered, jumbled mess. "I can't, I—"

"I'm not saying right this second or tomorrow," she interrupts my stammered attempt at a reply. "I know that you need time to sort out whatever you're going through. But Edward, you're not alone. I have just as many issues as you do; actually I probably have more. And guess what?" She doesn't wait for my answer. "I love you no matter what issues you have or what your past is. It's part of who you are, and loving someone means loving every single part. So please… just come back to me, because I need you."

Taking an audible, shaky breath in, I try to formulate a response to her, but am stopped as she switches gears completely. "You'll never guess what Jake wants to do for the wedding!" she starts excitedly, and I smile as she starts to ramble on, effectively changing the subject and removing the intensity of our conversation. It doesn't even matter what she's saying to derail the discussion. I know she's doing it for me, to try to make me feel more at ease, and I fall in love with her just a little more.

_BTN_

"Contrary to popular belief, C is not usually the answer to multiple choice questions," I announce to my accounting class at Seattle Community College. It is eight-forty-five Wednesday evening, and I have been giving them a much needed reprimand regarding the abysmal results of their mid-term exams.

Adjusting my glasses, I hand back their tests, moving slowly through the aisles, setting each disappointing paper on the corner of their desks. When I get to Lauren Mallory's exam, I shake my head.

"Happy faces are also not accurate responses to essay questions," I state dryly, setting her paper down and moving to the front of the class as a series of hushed chuckles fills the room.

"Please try to get page three hundred and twenty-nine in your text books by the next class. Have a good week," I say, effectively dismissing the class early, much to their surprise. I have never ended a class before its scheduled conclusion. I always end precisely at nine pm. _Predictability, order, expectation. _A few of the students exchange questioning glances before practically vaulting from their seats, mumbling their goodbyes to me as they leave.

I adjust my sweater vest and lift the eraser to the chalkboard, starting the process of cleaning it off. As I'm finishing the task, a throat clearing garners my attention, and I turn to see Miss Mallory sitting on the edge of my desk, her legs crossed under an extremely short skirt, and sucking on one of those lollipops she always seems to have. I wonder if there is some sort of new brand out.

I furrow my brow at her blatant lack of regard for the desk, and for my laptop bag which she is currently sitting on. "How can I help you, Miss Mallory?"

She tilts her head to the side, pulling the lollipop from her mouth. "I think I need more help. That last stuff you talked about was really confusing," she says, uncrossing her legs and swinging them.

"That was just a review of some basic concepts we learned a month ago. You did quite well on that portion of the exam," I answer, somewhat annoyed by her behavior.

She keeps her eyes on mine, her tongue darting out to slowly circle the lollipop. "It's always good to get more help though, isn't it?" she asks.

I level her a stern look. "It's always good to do the work, Miss Mallory. I suggest you read the pages as instructed, and if you are still confused, we can proceed from there." She looks at me like a wounded kitten, blinking up at me. "Was that all?"

She sighs, pushing off from the desk and my laptop bag before adjusting her skirt and turning from the door. "I guess so," she says, waving her lollipop at me. "Have a good week, Mr. Cullen."

I wait until she has disappeared out the door to open the lower desk drawer, reach for a pack of antibacterial wipes, and wipe down my laptop bag. I'm fairly certain it's a good idea.

_BTN_

It's Thursday evening at six thirty-five, and I'm am anxiously pacing the hardwood in my dining room, waiting for Jasper and Emmett's arrival. Normally, we would have started our work out in my home gym at six thirty but tonight, I've asked that they bring Alice and Rosalie. If they thought it was a strange a request, they didn't articulate it to me.

I finally hear Emmett's instantly recognizable knock on my door and rush to open it, taking a step back to let them all in as my heart hammers a frantic beat. I've been doing nothing but preparing for this for the last eighteen hours, and I can only hope that they are supportive in my decision.

They are all dressed in work-out attire, and Alice furrows her brow at my slacks and button down shirt.

"A change of plans?" she asks as I lead them through to the dining room.

"Something like that," I state, standing in front of the table which has four detailed information packets ready for each of them.

Emmett takes a look at the table, his eyes moving back to me. "What's going on, dude? Are we not working out?" he asks.

"Well, you all can, but I'm not." Emmett's concerned look returns as he waits impatiently. "There are four packages on the table, one for each of you. They contain instructions and a few requests that I have."

"Requests? Edward, you're not going to off yourself are you?" Emmett asks, his voice rising in worry as Rosalie grips his bicep tightly.

I can't stop the smile that overtakes me. "No. I'm not."

"Well it's a fucking good thing, because I would kill you if you did," he says seriously.

"That's impossible, Emmett. You can't kill someone who is already dead," I start to argue.

"Dude…" he warns, lifting a brow to me. "Don't start with me. What the fuck is going on?"

I meet his worried gaze. "I'm going to live my life."

Alice squeals and starts jumping up and down beside Jasper, her hand covering her mouth. "You're going back to Alaska, aren't you?" she asks excitedly.

I nod slowly to her, feeling my smile grow just a little wider. "Yes. I am."

Chapter end notes:

Thoughts?

_Accounting Comes Alive_ – Yes this book does actually exist. 2011, Mark Robilliard and Peter Frampton (the author, not the singer)

The lovely indificpimp is hosting a readalong for my completed fic, Nineteen Canvasses this coming Monday, June 25 at 9:00 pm EST. Link is here for those who wish to join:http (colon) / cot./eeAD4q

Twitter: CarLemon


	28. Chapter 28

All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

_Thanks as always, to my incredible beta __xrxdanixrx. _

_A very special thanks to the amazing Lattecoug for betaing this chapter. _

_Many Thanks to Robbsweetangel, my wonderful Twilighted beta. _

A million thanks to my dear friend and partner in crime, MizzezPattinson who pre-reads this story. Much love, hun. Your support means everything to me. XO

Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, and recommended this little story. Thank you for your patience as I rebuilt it, having lost it and my other uncompleted stories in a computer melt down.

We have arrived to the final chapter for our Numberward. It's always emotional to finish a story, particularly this one. It's difficult to describe the sheer frustration of having to rebuild something that you had already completed. I thank you for not giving up on me or Edward. I hope that you have enjoyed his journey. Please read the end notes for an announcement on a new story which is coming soon.

Let's check in and say goodbye.

Edward

Chapter 28

"I don't get it," Emmett says, looking confused as he stares back at me.

Rosalie hits him hard in his bicep, rolling her eyes. "He's going back for Bella, you moron."

"Yeah…With us for Jake's wedding in a couple of weeks, right?" he asks, furrowing his brow as Jasper just shakes his head, wrapping his arm around Alice who is still bouncing with excitement.

"No, Emmett. Tomorrow, actually," I clarify.

His eyes widen in disbelief. "Tomorrow? Like tomorrow, tomorrow?"

I chuckle while Rosalie hits him again. "Yes, Emmett. Tomorrow, tomorrow," I repeat. I'm taking the first flight out at six."

"In the morning?" Rosalie looks horrified. I nod at her, realizing that, for Rosalie, six am is unwelcome hour to be waking for the day.

"Does she know you're coming?" Jasper asks.

I shake my head, smiling at him. "No. She doesn't."

Emmett looks as if he's been hit by truck, and yanks one of the dining room chairs away from the table, sinking into it. "Seriously?" he asks, looking up me anxiously.

"Yes. Seriously." I glance over at Jasper with a look of concern before pulling out the chair beside Emmett and sitting down. "Emmett, I've thought about this… actually, this is all I've thought about since we returned. I don't want to live without her."

He nods at me slowly. "I know how that feels," he says, looking up at Rosalie who actually blushes. Silence falls over the room while we all stare at her in disbelief. I've never, in the entire time I've known Rosalie, seen her blush.

"What?" she asks, trying to hold back her smile, moving to slide her arm around Emmett's shoulder. "Can't I like lovey-dovey shit too?"

The room erupts with laughter, effectively taking the edge off the conversation. "What's with these?" Emmett asks once the laughter has calmed, lifting one of the large, white packets from the dining room table.

"Your e-tickets for the flight for the upcoming wedding, travel itineraries, and a safety pack," I start to explain.

"Safety pack?" Jasper asks, moving to the large envelope on the table with his name on the front.

"Pre-paid gift cards for Granola bars from the Natural Food Pantry," I begin again.

"Oh, those were good!" Alice says happily.

"I thought you said it was a safety pack?" Emmett asks, looking puzzled.

"It is. You know how I feel about the horrible food they serve on airplanes. Mrs. Cope hand makes her granola bars. They're organic and are filled with omega-three and fiber. Trust me; it's better for you than anything they will try to give you on the plane."

Rosalie grins, shaking her head as she opens her envelope.

"There's also a small bottle of hand sanitizer for each of you, and Jasper- I've given you a travel first aid kit, just in case it's required."

"Hey! Why does he get to have to that?" Emmett asks, looking wounded.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Because I've been on the receiving end of several of your attempts to administer first aid."

"Says the guy who passes out from the sight of blood," Emmett fires back at me, smirking.

I adjust my glasses. He does have a point, but still, I think the first aid kit is best left with Jasper.

"Fine, you can have the stupid first aid thing," Emmett grumbles, waving his hand dismissively at Jasper who grins back him. "What do I get?"

I grin, reaching for the Garmin GPS device beside his envelope, passing it to him. "You get to be in charge of the GPS unit."

"Sweet!" Emmett yells, taking the device and turning it over in his hand.

I chuckle at his excitement before continuing. "And I'm hoping that you'll be able to make arrangements for my apartment."

His face falls. "What do you mean? What arrangements?"

"Well, if things work out and I end up staying-"

"They're going to work out," Alice interrupts confidently, leaning against Jasper.

I smile back at her. "_If _they do, I'm going to want to rent out the apartment."

"And you want me to figure all that shit out?" Emmett asks apprehensively.

"I'd like you to find a suitable tenant."

Rosalie furrows her brow. "Why not just sell it?"

"I'm looking at it as an investment property. It's worth more if I hang on to it," I explain.

Emmett smiles at me, nodding his head. "You're always thinking, bro."

"Most of the time, yes," I say, raking my hand through my hair.

"You're really sure about this?" Emmett asks seriously.

"I'm sure that I have to try. Everything is just… different now since I met her. And I need to know I have your support, Emmett," I say, staring back at him. "All of your support." I glance at each one of them "I've never done anything that doesn't involve one or all of you, and certainly never anything like this before. It's the first time I'm doing something where I'm not entirely sure what the outcome is going to be."

"That's bullshit," Emmett responds firmly, causing my mouth to drop open at his words.

"Did you know that you were going to be able to play that stupid Beethoven song on the piano after only hearing it once?"

I smile at him, shaking my head at the fact that he remembers. "It was Brahms, and no, I guess-"

"Did you know that you were going to have to drag my ass to bed after I passed out at that keg party we had in second year?"

Rosalie rolls her eyes at the mention of Emmett's shady university days.

"You had a lot of keg parties, Emmett, which one?" He laughs loudly; despite the fact that I know he's trying to be serious. "I thought you might get intoxicated, but no, I didn't know I'd have to that."

"Did you know for sure that going into the business with us would turn out the way it did?" He lifts his eyebrows, staring back at me intently.

"Certainly, I had hoped, done the research, and determined that the probabilities of success were in our favor, but I guess no, I didn't know for certain."

"What about Alaska, huh? Did you know you were going to fall in love? Or think you were going to do all things you ended up doing? No! You didn't, Edward. You need to start realizing that you do things you're not sure about every day. You can't plan every single thing in your life. Fuck, you'd go insane if you tried. Sometimes the best things happen because they're not planned."

I'm stunned into silence. It's probably the longest speech I've heard Emmett give outside of his commentary on the status of various sports teams.

"Of course we support you, bro." His firm hand cups my shoulder. "We would support you no matter what you decided to do."

I feel a wave of relief wash over me. "Thank you. You don't know what that means to me."

"I think we do, man," Jasper says.

"Okay! Stop, stop! I'm going to cry!" Alice says, sniffing into Jasper's shirt. "Let's go over what else is in the packages, and then we can celebrate!"

_BTN_

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" I ask Rosalie as we work together to continue to pack up my clothes. I've decided to take one large suitcase in addition to my carry-on bag... for now.

She smirks at me, pulling out one of my sweater vests and lifting a brow before tossing it in the 'donate' pile she started forty minutes ago.

"I really like that one," I protest, gazing down at the blue vest.

"You have like seventeen packed already," she says flippantly, reaching back into the closet and tossing me a blue button down shirt.

"I only have nine packed," I murmur, grinning as I take my time to properly fold the shirt that she has just haphazardly tossed to me.

"What does your heart tell you?" she asks, turning from the closet to study me.

My hands still over the fabric of the shirt. "That I love her." She nods, smiling as she moves in front of my chest of drawers. "What did your heart tell you with Emmett?" I inquire.

She pauses, considering my question before answering, "That he was a big goof ball."

I laugh, setting the folded shirt into my suitcase on top of the pile. I frown slightly, knowing I can't fit much more in. Alice will just have more to ship to Alaska... I hope.

"A big goof ball that I couldn't live without," Rosalie adds. I smile at her words as she crosses the room to me, setting her hand over my heart. "Trust this, Edward. It's usually not wrong."

She turns back to the dresser and hauls open the top drawer. "Oh hell no!" she yells. "I draw the line at packing your underwear!"

_BTN_

"I have to give you kudos, Edward. This is a bold, bold move." Jasper leans back in the chair at the dining room table, grinning at me.

"For me, yes it is."

"For anyone," he says while we finish going over the contents of his envelope.

I've asked that Jasper take over the measuring associated with our contracts. That's really all I need in order to provide accurate costing for our clients. I've tested the concept on five of the more in-depth projects that we have already completed, rerunning calculations in order to ensure that my theory is correct.

His package contains instructions on measuring, some tricks I've developed over the years to ensure accuracy, along with sketches and measurements from previous jobs we've completed for him to use as a reference.

"Are you comfortable with sending measurements to me via email along with photos? I should be able to cost things out as long as the measurements are accurate."

He nods, grinning at me. "I can handle that."

"Remember-"

"Measure twice, then measure again," he interrupts.

I nervously run my hand through my hair. "I'm sorry. I just want to make sure that you're comfortable with taking this on."

He claps his hand on my shoulder, squeezing in reassurance. "You'll walk me through the first few, and you're only a phone call away."

"Yes, I suppose I am."

Alice shakes her head, waving her hand frantically in front of her face. "No. No crying. Let's talk about what you want me to do with all of those clothes! I've never seen anyone with as many ties and vests in my life!"

_BTN_

"What did mom and dad say?" Emmett asks as he leans over the rail of my balcony, sipping on a Heineken, looking out into the early Seattle evening.

After Alice suggested that we celebrate, she had moved into my kitchen, muttered unintelligibly, and then promptly went out to purchase wine and beer. I don't do any entertaining, and I would never sit with a beer and watch Jeopardy in the evening, so why bother keeping them on hand?

"They were shocked, but they said the same things you all have. They want me to be happy."

He takes a long pull from his beer. "Bella's one lucky girl."

I shake my head at him. "No. I'm the lucky one, or I hope to be in any case. She may run screaming for the Alaskan forests when see she's me. Which reminds me, I need to ask another favor." He turns to look at me. "I know I've left you in charge of the GPS and sorting the apartment, but I need something else that I think you may have."

Turning from the balcony, he regards at me seriously. "Whatever you want, bro. You know I've got your back."

"Do you have Jacob Black's phone number?" He furrows his brow. "I'm going to need his help."

_BTN_

"Come on in!" Rosalie yells, splashing water at Emmett as they frolic in the roof top pool.

I adjust my glasses, running my hand through my hair, standing nervously beside the diving board. "We're not supposed to be up here," I whisper-yell while Jasper takes a running jump, cannon-balling into the deep end, soaking me in the process.

"Says who?" Emmett asks he stands in the shallow end, grabbing a shrieking Rosalie around the waist, tossing her effortlessly, watching as she sinks under the surface.

I slide my glasses off, pulling my button down from my slacks and using the fabric near the hem to dry the splashes of water from the lenses. "Says the sign on the door which clearly lists the hours of operation as being ten a.m. until nine p.m."

Alice tugs on my arm, trying to pull me in the direction of the pool. "Come on, Edward. Jump in with us! It'll be fun!" she urges.

I shake my head, taking a step back beside one of the circular patio tables, slipping my glasses back on. "You go ahead. I'll keep watch," I suggest, glancing anxiously at the door and wondering when security will burst through.

I've had an exemplary record as a tenant over the four years I've lived here, and now, that may be shattered with Emmett's infantile suggestion that we 'take a dip.' "And besides, I don't have my suit."

"Dude! None of us have our suits! We just jumped right in. And the door was open. If they wanted to keep us out, they should have locked it!" Emmett shouts for all of Seattle to hear.

"Would you keep your voice down?" I hiss.

"It's okay," Jasper says as he floats on his back, looking up into the darkened Seattle night. "You're up here with us. That's all that matters." I smile at Jasper, thankful for his ability to see reason on this issue. "It's been a great last night together."

"It's not our last night," Alice says, looking up at me worriedly, her tiny hand squeezing mine.

I smile at her, overwhelmed by the amount of support I know I have. As Alice watches, I let go of her hand, slowly slide my glasses off, and set them on top of the patio table, before taking her hand once more.

Alice practically squeals, causing everyone in the pool to turn their attention to us.

"One!" she yells, vibrating with excitement beside me.

"Two," I say calmly, grinning as I take a step with her to the edge of the pool, while Emmett hoots with excitement, my heart hammering.

"Do it! Do it! Do it!" Rosalie chants as she bobs in the water.

"Three!" Alice hollers, gripping my hand tightly as we both leap into the air, sinking quickly into the deep end.

The chilled water ignites every cell in my body, soaking through my slacks and button down as I kick quickly to the surface, hearing the four of them cheering like fools.

It's certainly not our last night together, but it is one of the best.

_BTN_

"Well, there it goes," I state, turning back to the four of them as my luggage disappears down the conveyer belt, into the depths of the unknown where it hopefully will find its way onto flight 823.

I was shocked when Emmett pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment in his oversized sport utility vehicle with Rosalie, Jasper, and Alice at four-thirty this morning. Apparently, they all wanted to come with him to see me off.

It was heartwarming gesture, particularly for Rosalie who is anything but a morning a person. Emmett compared her demeanor this morning to that of a "PMSing bear." Those are his words, not mine.

Their presence has helped greatly to calm my anxious nerves as I listened to their familiar bantering while Emmett navigated to the airport. Apparently, Rosalie is convinced she can traverse through the streets of Seattle better than Emmett or the barrage of engineers at Garmin who program the GPS system, and was quick to bark directions from the passenger seat.

"I can't believe you only packed one bag," Alice says, still in shock over that fact, I think.

Jasper chuckles, kissing the top of her head while we move as a group to the security area.

With only taking the bare essentials, I'm leaving Alice and Rosalie in charge of shipping the remaining items... I hope. Even though Isabella and I have spoken and texted several times since my return, and those conversations have been nothing but positive ones, there is still the looming thought that she may not react positively to my unannounced arrival.

"Okay. So this is not goodbye," Alice starts, vaulting herself at me as I adjust my carry-on bag over my shoulder. "It's 'I'll talk to you tonight, and I'll see you in a few weeks at the wedding.'" She buries her face against my shirt, sniffing in the process.

I wrap my arms tightly around her small frame. "That's exactly what it is, Alice. Thank you," I whisper in her ear. "For everything."

Alice tries to stealthily wipe tears from her cheek as she releases me, taking a step back while Jasper holds his hand out. I take it, shaking firmly, well as firmly as I can, before he pulls me against his chest. "Go get your girl," he says, patting me on the back before I am engulfed in a hug from Rosalie and Emmett.

"Remember what I told you," Rosalie murmurs in my ear. "Trust your heart and you won't go wrong."

"We're going to miss you at Sunday dinner, bro." Emmett's voice cracks slightly as I try to maintain my composure.

"Maybe I can video conference in," I suggest, swallowing back the lump in my throat as they unwrap their arms from around me.

"That would be cool," he says excitedly, his arm wrapping around Rosalie.

"I need to see about a connection that is better than dial up." I frown, thinking about the archaic modem that serves to connect the Lodge to rest of civilization. It's something I will need to look into... if I'm staying.

It's a bittersweet feeling as I make my way through the short security line in a virtual haze, turning to give them a final wave. They stand together, a united front, waving back frantically at me, Emmett shouting at the top of lungs for me to call him when I get there.

I nod to him, chuckling at his booming voice before I'm ushered through the security clearing process, each step taking me closer to her.

_BTN_

Sitting at the gate, waiting for the boarding call, I scroll through the text conversation Isabella and I had last night, after I dealt with my chlorine-soaked clothing.

It's become somewhat of a pattern for Isabella to text me once we disconnect from our telephone conversations. It's extremely sweet and endearing, and I dare say, occasionally erotic.

I've chosen not to pull up those particular conversations as I'm fairly certain an erection while in first class is something that would be frowned upon by the passengers and flight crew.

I smile to myself reading the final messages from last night.

She was describing how Jacob has been driving Leah to the brink of insanity with his constant meddling in the wedding plans, and how they both would be glad to be rid of him as he would be gone the next day to Anchorage.

_What's Jacob doing in Anchorage?_

I shake my head at the blatant question I asked.

_Who cares! Some business and a pick-up or something. He's out of our hair which = good!_

It took everything in me not to tell her that_ I _was the pick-up.

_Sweet dreams, Isabella._

_You're in them – they are always sweet. XO _

A monotone voice crackling overhead breaks my review of the conversation, and I switch off my phone, moving to impatiently join the queue of boarding passengers.

_BTN_

I'm a bundle of nervous energy, my entire body humming with anticipation as I gaze out the tiny oval window onto the tarmac. I turn my attention to the flight attendant as the safety protocol pipes through the cabin of the plane, and we roll slowly into position on the runway.

I'm glad to have something to at least try to focus on. I don't ever remember being this nervous in my entire life, and that is saying something. I slip the safety card out of the seat pocket in front of me, and study it as suggested. I note that none else in the seats around me follows the instructions to do so.

Committing the card to memory, I slide it back into the pocket, turning to the window on the right, my heart hammering frantically. I feel the engines thrust, the tarmac becoming a virtual blur as the plane taxis down the runway, and I leave Seattle behind.

_BTN_

I've been staring out the misted cabin window as the plane levels out smoothly above the cloudbank. Everything looks drastically different from thirty-seven thousand feet.

The clouds appear to be alive in an otherwise clear blue sky, bunches of cotton balls tumbling together in random patterns, and each one we pass, brings me closer to seeing her again.

"Sir?" The squeaky voice of the ever-present flight attendant garners my attention once more, and I turn to see her leaning in, rather close, I may add.

"There must be _something_ I can get for you," she presses, looking at me hopefully. I've already refused two offers of beverages, some sort of horrific, freeze-dried breakfast meal, and two bags of nuts. Perhaps they are being graded on their customer service skills during this flight.

"Perhaps a water?" I suggest, resulting in a triumphant smile from the attendant. "I have my own bottle." I lean forward to pull my BPA-free water bottle from the side pouch of my carry-on bag, passing it to her as her brow furrows.

"You have your own bottle?" She turns it over in her hand, looking at it as if it is from another planet.

"Yes." I adjust my glasses, glancing back at her.

She grins, blinking several times in succession before disappearing with my bottle. The blinking is probably another case of wearing contact lenses. With planes as dry as they are, I wonder why these attendants wouldn't chose to wear their glasses. I make a mental note to suggest it when she returns.

Needing something to calm my racing heart, I pull my iPod from the zipper pouch of my carry-on, gently setting the ear buds into my ears and selecting my three B's playlist. Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms – you really can't go wrong. If this won't do something to settle my nerves, I'm not sure what will.

_BTN_

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." Jacob's greeting causes me to laugh as he stands with his bulging arms crossed at the arrivals gate, a smirk clearly etched on his face.

"Jacob." I set down my suitcase and extend my hand. He ignores it, deciding to clap me on the back with so much force, it actually borders on painful. "Thank you so much for meeting me," I say sincerely. "I can't begin to tell you what it means to me."

"Sure, sure. I don't get up this early in the morning for just anyone, you know." I furrow my brow. It's only just after nine. Normally, I would have been up and in the office, already working for at least an hour by this time. "And it'll cost ya, Eddie."

I realize in my haste to ask Jacob to pick me up last evening, we did not discuss payment. Not that it matters. I just need to get to her as fast as humanely possible, no matter what it costs. "Payment isn't an issue."

He grins, shaking his head and reaching from my suitcase. "Don't be too quick to say that until you hear what it is." He turns, rolling my luggage behind him while he moves through the terminal towards an exit sign. I follow along and we make our way through the doors and out into the crisp Alaskan morning.

"I can arrange for funds to be transferred to you once we are the Lodge," I offer while we move towards the dock, my lungs exploding with an intake of fresh air.

Stopping in front of his yellow float plane, he turns back to me. "Tell you what. You play at the wedding and we'll call it even."

I feel the blood drain from my face while I stare back at him. Surely he can't be serious. "Play?" My voice sounds like a whisper. "Jacob, I don't-"

"Or, I can just leave you here... it's a long drive to Cooper Landing, Ed," he says with a smirk, opening up the side door on the plane. "I can have you there in under an hour."

"Jacob… I've never played at a wedding before. Prior to what I played at the Lodge that night, I hadn't played for anyone but my family." I feel my heart quicken at just the thought.

"Mhmm..." he murmurs. "Here's the thing. I love Sam and all, but Leah really liked that song that you played. You wouldn't want to disappoint a bride on her wedding day, would you?" He leans against the door of the plane smirking and I frown for a moment. Who knew that he could be so shrewd?

We exchange a silent stare down, and before I can stop myself, I'm extending my hand to him. "You drive a hard bargain, Jacob Black." His grin widens as he engulfs my hand with his. "And you have a deal."

He looks beyond pleased with himself while he squeezes my hand tightly… very tightly before releasing it. "Come on, let's load up and get you where you need to be," he says, tossing the suitcase into the back of the plane as if it weighs nothing. "It's a great day to fly."

_BTN_

"Jeez, Ed you really need to learn to relax, especially on a day like today," Jacob shouts over the deafening roar of the engine.

I grip the arm rests of the seat, my knuckles turning white as I fight to steady my queasy stomach. That's the last thing I need…to arrive onto the dock at the Lodge; only to spill the contents of my stomach at Isabella's feet. "I know I should!" I holler. "But this plane makes me nervous." I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a series of deep breaths.

Jacob laughs loudly beside me, banking the plane to the left only slightly, but enough for my stomach to plummet yet again. "It's the safest way to travel!" he yells happily.

The cramped confines of the cockpit shake and rattle as I open one eye, watching while Jacob guides the de Havilland to soar closer to the rocky edges of the mountains than I would like. Why I decided to agree to Jacob's suggestion to sit beside him up here is a baffling mystery, and quite frankly right now, I'm seriously starting to question my sanity.

"Bear to the right below!" he yells, and I turn my head, pulling down the aging red life vest from around my neck as I tentatively peer out the window.

I feel a smile break across my face, seeing a large brown mass moving slowly through a clearing below. Emmett would love to see this. The sight of the bear has a somewhat calming effect, and I take a moment to appreciate the vast untouched wilderness that stretches out before me. It is truly remarkable, and I suppose on some level, I can understand why Jacob enjoys flying so much if these are views he is treated to.

"Here! Take the controls!" Jacob suddenly shouts.

I turn my head quickly to him, my mouth gapping open. "What? No. Jacob!"

"You gotta learn sometime!" he says loudly, prying my hand from the arm rest and setting on the weathered leather steering handle.

My heart hammers in my chest and I think my eyes may actually pop out of the sockets as Jacob removes his hand from the controls, pointing to one of the dials on the control panel in front of us. "Just keep an eye on this."

"What is that?" I ask, my eyes darting across the dizzying myriad of controls to focus on the one he is pointing at.

"It's the horizon indicator," he starts to explain. "Just keep it level and you won't crash us."

With my heart in my throat, my eyes drift from the dials back to him. "I won't crash? Jacob, I really don't—"

"Eyes in front!" he yells with a grin, his hand reaching forward to adjust a lever as I turn back to the front window. "You're flying, Eddie! It's not rocket science. Trust me. If I can do it, anyone can!"

Somehow, his words do not instill confidence, but I focus on the horizon dial as he instructed, keeping it level. My hands grip the steering column as if my life depends on it. I suppose it does. Still, despite the fact that I feel as if I pass out at any moment, I can't deny the excitement coursing through me.

Lifting my eyes to the front, I glance out over the turquoise water stretched out below us like a crystal pane of glass. My shaking palms start to sweat with my ever-growing anxiety and I turn to glance at Jacob.

"Is that Kenai Lake?"

He grins, nodding his head. "The one and only."

Hearing the blood pulse behind my ears, I stare back at him, taking a series of deep breaths.

"Eyes on the controls! I really don't want to die before my wedding," he shouts.

I whip my head to the front. "Then I shouldn't be doing this!"

He laughs, as he manipulates a series of levers while I lean across, trying to keep us steady as he instructed. It's quite impressive, actually to see him in his element. The sheer amount of dials and switches that adorn the control panel is staggering to me. He's clearly competent and extremely sure of himself. Qualities I admire a great deal.

After a few moments, I feel Jacob's hands reclaim the steering controls. "You did great, Eddie. I'll take it from here," he says calmly.

I nod as a sense of relief washes over me, and I close my eyes. I'm honestly not sure how I am not passed out on the floor of the plane at this point. Emmett will never believe what I've just done.

Shifting back into my seat, I feel the thrust reduce, the deafening roar of the engine quiets, and I snap my eyes open as the trees get closer and closer. Adjusting the life vest from around my neck, I watch as the water inches its way towards us until the floats touch down, water shooting out from the sides while Jacob guides the de Havilland effortlessly towards the dock at the end of the lake.

Feeling the interior of the cabin spin before my eyes, I bend over at the waist, trying desperately not to pass out. While the plane bobs in the water, the adrenaline spikes through me as I will my racing heart to calm.

Swallowing thickly, I feel Jacob lean across my lap, throwing open the door and letting in a blast of much needed fresh air which I inhale greedily.

I tentatively open my eyes, feeling his strong hand on my shoulder. "Edward? You alright there, man?" Jacob asks quietly.

I raise my head, adjusting my glasses, staring back at him. "You just called me Edward," I say quietly in disbelief.

He grins, chuckling slightly. "Thought it was about time." His eyes drift to the dock as his smile widens, and he motions with his head to the open door. "Somebody's waiting."

I close my eyes before turning my head slowly and stretching my legs out, unfolding from the plane and taking a tentative step onto the rickety dock.

_Please do not let me pass out. Please do not let me pass out. _If I repeat the mantra continually, perhaps I'll manage to stay upright.

Lifting my eyes to the Lodge, I stop breathing altogether when I see Isabella stopped on the dock, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she shakes her head.

My pulse thunders in my ears, obliterating every other sound around me, my memories clearly failing me on just how incredibly beautiful she is. And then, it begins… the draw that I cannot rationalize, the smile that I feel break across my face immediately, the intense desire to be near her as our eyes lock.

I take a few shaky steps forward, the dock creaking and swaying, doing nothing for my already unsteady legs, and then she is sprinting towards me, her hair flowing behind her as she leaps at me, her torso connecting with the life vest as she tries to wrap her arms around my neck.

My eyes slide shut, my arms engulfing her as best I can while I breathe her in, burying my face in her hair, soaking in the feeling. "Isabella…" Any further speech is elusive.

"I'm dreaming, right? This is a dream?" she whispers.

"One that we're in together," I manage to say as she slips from arms, her hand rising to cup my cheek .

"You're really here?"

I nod, brushing her falling tears with the pad of my thumb. I only hope they are happy tears. "If you'll have me."

"But… Seattle and your life…" she starts, her eyes searching mine.

"Someone once told me it's good to break from routine, and to never look back and think about what ifs." Her eyes widen at my words as she shakes her head in disbelief. "I know what she meant now. In Seattle, I had my job, and things that I had to do that were and are important to me." She brushes her thumb over my cheek, her eyes intently on mine. "But when I got home and had to get back to that reality, I realized I didn't want to live in it without you," I admit, brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face.

She takes a shaky breath in, tugging on the bottom of the life vest. "Get this off!" Her trembling hands somehow unfasten the tie in the middle of the vest, and we both push it frantically up and over my head, leaving my glasses askew while the vest falls with a thud onto the dock.

Ignoring my disheveled state, she cups my face between her hands, lifting up on her toes, the barrier of the life vest gone as she closes the distance between us.

I close my eyes, my nose brushing against hers, her breath warm against my skin, and with my heart in my throat, I gently press my lips to hers, lingering, savoring the way she feels; soft, warm, and inviting.

Her fingers twist in my hair, our mouths moving more urgently, a low hum emanating from her as the kiss deepens. My entire body is on fire; the feeling that only she can provide of being alive and electric, courses through me once more.

My hand presses against the curve of her neck as I reacquaint myself with the softness of her lips, the feel of her hair between my fingers, the warmth of her body as it presses against mine.

"You stole my t-shirt," I murmur as she pulls back, resting her forehead on mine, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of my neck.

"What?" she asks breathlessly, extracting one hand from my hair and skimming it down my back.

I sigh at the feel of her touch, my fingers trailing across the sleeve of the grey Hanes t-shirt that I immediately recognize.

"This is mine," I say, tugging on the hem of the shirt as it hangs on her denim clad thigh.

She grins, her lips hovering over mine. "And so am I."

_BTN_

"Yes, Mr. Modina. I can grade the student's assignments once they have been submitted online," I explain to the Dean of the college as we review arrangements for the rest of the term for my marginal accounting students.

With virtual classes and digital submissions being commonplace, the discussion which I was worried about having with the Dean has actually gone very smoothly.

As I sit at Isabella's dining room table, which is strewn with more correspondence than it was when I left, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. My smile, that now seems a permanent feature, widens as her arms wrap around my shoulders from behind, her lips skimming my neck while her hand flattens over my chest.

I clear my throat, leaning back in the chair, my eyes sliding shut while her fingers release the first button on my dress shirt, her breath fanning over skin.

I slide my free hand down her arm as she moves to slip into my lap, straddling my waist and popping the next button on my shirt free, her eyes intently on mine.

"Of course," I squeak out, my mouth going dry, watching as she wets her bottom lip. "I'll be sure to let you know how it goes. I'll speak to you soon." Whatever parting words the Dean is saying are lost to me as she rolls her hips, a quiet groan emanating from me while I slide my free hand around her waist.

I shake my head slowly at her, disconnecting from the call, reaching around her to place the phone on the table. "You, Isabella Swan, are very dangerous."

"Who? Me?" She grins, lifting a brow, circling her hips once more as the situation in my trousers makes itself known.

"Yes. You." I smooth my palm up her back, pressing her forward as her fingers curl around the collar of my shirt. She tugs gently, bringing my lips to hers.

"And do you like me dangerous?" she mumbles against my lips.

I hum in response as she places her palms behind her on the table, hopping up, pulling me to stand between her legs. Pressing my torso to hers, she leans back, her hand skimming across the table, resulting in most of the correspondence ending up on the floor.

"Is it wrong if my answer yes?"

She laughs, her legs wrapping around my waist. "No. It's not."

_BTN_

"What words would you use to describe me?" I ask much later, lifting a pink envelope from the floor as we attempt to sort through the myriad of papers and receipts that were swept from the top of the dining room table.

"Hmm?"

"Well, you called Eric here cute," I mutter, holding the envelope aloft.

She grins, jumping up to steal the envelope from my hand, turning it over and rolling her eyes before tossing it back onto the table.

She takes a step towards me, flattening her palms up my chest. "Mmm… Sexy," she mumbles.

I try to contain a chuckle, pulling back from her slightly, brushing her hair from her face. "Isabella, I'm a lot of things, but sexy isn't one of them."

"You asked _me_ what my words are. Do you want to hear them or not?" she asks, lifting a brow.

I kiss the crease in the forehead. "Forgive me. Of course I do."

"Mmm…" She presses her lips to my jaw. "Intelligent." Her lips skim across my collarbone as my heart races. "Caring." Wrapping her arms around my waist she rests her cheek against my chest. "Warm and perfect."

I kiss the top of her head, tightening my arms around her. Once again, speech isn't an option.

_BTN_

Eighty-four-The number guests currently sitting in white folding chairs in the clearing at the Lodge, awaiting the arrival of Leah and her bridal party.

One properly tuned black Steinway piano, currently sitting on a wooden, raised platform to the right of Jacob Black as I play a selection of classical pieces from the three B's, and try not to pass out.

Normally I am content to stay in my usual place of invisibility that I typically occupy. Today, however, I am literally front and center at one of the most important events to take place in someone's life.

I'm grateful for the hours I spent with my mother sitting at the piano, learning and playing these songs. That is time that was very well spent.

I'm also trying to focus on Emmett's words of encouragement when he said, "Just pretend you're playing for us, and if you get nervous, look for me. I'll be in front with Rose."

I've looked over to him eight times, and each time, as he said he would, he offers me a reassuring thumbs up, or makes some sort of face which he thinks will calm me. Even though my heart has been hammering a rapid beat since well before the ceremony started, the pieces I've chosen to play are at least soothing in their familiarity.

It could have been disastrous as Jacob's first request was that I play an instrumental version of Motely Crue's _Girls, Girls, Girls._ Isabella wisely steered him clear of that ill-advised suggestion, stating she would make sure the DJ played it during the reception.

With Brahms, Romanze in F completed, my gaze lifts to the grass aisle between the lines of chairs. In a last minute idea, Jacob decided to desecrate several of the white roses from the flower arrangements, throwing them on the aisle. I was horrified at first, but had to agree with him that it did look wonderful when he was finished.

My breath catches at the sight of Isabella as she moves slowly, her hands clasped around a small bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots, her eyes clearly locked to me.

My fingers still over the keys as I watch her, the hem of her black strapless dress brushing the rose petals strewn on the grass while my mouth goes dry. My heart races as I take in her creamy skin, her hair as it falls in waves around her shoulders, the slight blush to her cheeks while her eyes widen when she sees me.

Jasper's throat clearing brings me out of my haze, and I glance at him, his eyes drifting pointedly to the piano keys and back to me until it dawns on me that I'm supposed to be playing. I shake my head, feeling more than flustered as I immerse myself in the task at hand.

_BTN_

I close my eyes, rich vanilla icing mixing perfectly with nutty pecan essence as I bite into the delightfully warm pastry beside the dessert table. The wedding was lovely and proceeded without a hitch, despite my momentary slip at the piano which seems to have been long forgotten.

The Alaskan weather cooperated, providing a cloudless sky and relatively warm temperatures as Charlie, acting as the official photographer, snapped pictures of Jacob and Leah by the float plane, and in various places surrounding the Lodge.

After a rowdy dinner in the restaurant, which included Jacob disappearing under Leah's dress only to emerge moments later with a black garter in his teeth, the party moved into the bar.

Now, Isabella's mystery drink, which she refuses to divulge the ingredients of, is being consumed faster than Charlie can make it.

"Enjoying my buns?" Isabella's voice causes me to choke, my eyes flying opening as I choke and swallow the pastry.

She grins up at me, patting me on the back and offering me a glass of the mystery punch. "You know, you can have _Bella's Buns_ whenever you want," she says, wrapping her arm around my waist as I take a tentative sip of the beverage.

It reminds me vaguely of Emmett's legendary _Killer Kool-Aid,_ and I decide quickly that one sip is all I need. I do not wish to relive the one and only time I was intoxicated.

"I can?" I ask, my tongue darting to the corner of my mouth to catch some wayward icing.

She squeezes my waist gently. "Mhmm…"

"Have I told you tonight that I love you, Isabella Swan?" I ask, staring down at her.

"Because of my buns?" she asks, lifting a brow in amusement.

"Because of a thousand reasons. Only one of which is your buns."

She gasps dramatically. "Edward Cullen! Are you flirting with me?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes," she breathes, her fingers tracing up the buttons of my vest.

"Then yes."

"I love you too," she says while my heart explodes at her words as she presses her lips firmly to mine, humming in contentment.

I'm vaguely aware of Sam and his wayward band of marginally talented musicians, breaking into an ear-piercing guitar riff, followed by Sam's shrieking.

_Out on the street, that's where we'll meet_

Isabella whips her head to the stage, jumping with excitement beside me, and I chuckle at her enthusiasm.

"It's your Ratt with two T's!" I shout above Sam's warbled voice.

Alice and Rosalie emerge from the crowd of pulsating bodies on the dance floor, desperately tugging on Isabella's arm.

"Come on! Dance with us!" Alice yells, effectively pulling Isabella from my arms. She gives a wave to me, and they bounce off to join the rest of the crowd as I return to peruse the sweets.

"Great job today, Edward," Charlie claps me on the shoulder as I reach for a chocolate brownie, setting it onto my plate.

"Thank you, sir…er… Charlie. It's the first time I've played in front of so many people. I'm afraid I made a few mistakes." I grimace, thinking of the three misguided notes in one of the Bach pieces.

He waves his hand dismissively, taking a sip of the lavender colored punch. "Mistakes are all part of life. We learn from them, we move on. You did great, and I'm happy you're here. We have a lot to celebrate."

I smile at him as he holds his glass out and I clink mine to his. "That we do, Charlie."

Charlie's eyes drift to the bar where a few of the guests seem to be motioning to the empty punch bowl. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "I'll be back, Edward. Duty calls."

As Charlie moves back to the bar, muttering under his breath, I see Emmett and Jasper jump up onto the stage and I furrow my brow. Nothing good usually comes from this intoxicated duo when placed in the presence of a microphone and a room full of people.

I try to shoot Emmett a warning look, but he is ignoring me completely, talking into Sam's ear.

_Oh dear Lord._ What on earth are they planning?

Sam nods his head as I set the mystery drink down along with the plate, and Emmett takes the microphone.

_He's going to sing. _

I shake my head, searching frantically for Rosalie. Perhaps she can talk some sense into him.

Unfortunately, Rosalie and Alice are both leading the crowd, chanting unintelligibly in front of the stage.

The drummer starts a rhythm – at least he can hold a beat, most of the time- and then, Emmett does a hip gyration on the stage, sending Rosalie and the rest of the woman in the room into a round of cat calls.

Emmett flashes Rosalie a grin, and then his booming, slightly intoxicated voice echoes through the bar.

_We got it together, didn't we, baby?_

I shake my head at his attempt to sound like Barry White while I try to disappear behind the dessert buffet as Jasper leans over towards the microphone.

_We definitely got our thing together don't we, baby?_

Alice squeals at the sound of Jasper's voice, and I laugh at the two of them while they try to make their way through the prelude to the song, fumbling the words in the process. The crowd couldn't care less, rather, every mistaken lyric seems to only urge them on while they all dance and sing along to the parts that they know.

Staring in disbelief at the stage, I notice Isabella move through the crowd, laughing while she stops at the edge of the dance floor, crooking her finger at me enticingly. My heart accelerates as my gaze locks to hers.

_You're my sun, my moon, my guiding star  
My kind of wonderful, that's what you are_

In a haze, I make my way to her, my hand wrapping around her waist, pressing her against my torso, my free hand placing hers over my heart. She smiles up at me, sliding her hand around my neck, her fingers teasing my skin.

"I don't dance well," I murmur, brushing my nose against hers.

"Yes you do. I taught you. Just sway."

"I glance up to the rest of the crowd who is hip grinding and gyrating to the upbeat tempo, the floor pulsating underneath our feet.

"Everyone else is dancing fast," I note, my hand sliding across her lower back while we start to slowly sway.

"I don't care," she murmurs, her eyes never leaving mine.

_I see, so many ways that I can love you_

We share a laugh, hearing Emmett's voice.

"You look pretty damn fantastic, Edward Cullen," she says sincerely.

"Mmm… It's the suit," I reply dismissively.

She shakes her head slowly as we start to move in a leisurely circle, lost in our quiet moment. "It's _you_ in a suit."

"Isabella, I…"

She slides her hand from my neck, placing her fingers over my mouth. "I know there's only, only one like you," she mouths, her fingers drifting back into my hair. "There's no way they could have made two."

Skimming my lips under her ear, I slowly whisper along with Jasper and Emmett's off key singing. "Girl, you're my reality. But I'm lost in a dream."

Resting my forehead on hers, we continue to sway under the white twinkle lights that Emmett and Jasper helped to hang from the exposed beams of the bar earlier today.

"You're the first, you're the last, my everything."

_BTN_

1:38- The fuzzy time that reads on Isabella's digital alarm clock, perched precariously on her nightstand.

Eight – The number of times I've ghosted my fingers down the curve of her spine as she sleeps beside me, her hair fanned out on the blue pillow that is adorned with tiny bears.

One strapless, black dress, currently in a heap on the floor beside my suit.

One person who can change what you thought you wanted. A person who takes the time to look beyond the surface to see what's underneath, and by some miracle, not only accepts what they find, but doesn't want to live without it.

In the morning, Jacob and Leah will leave for their honeymoon, embarking on the next stage of their lives together. I suppose that's what every morning brings you; a new experience, a new adventure. It may not always be what you planned, but I intend to take each journey that may come my way with Isabella by my side.

Smoothing my hand over the creamy skin of her back, I close my eyes, ready to take our next step together.

Chapter end notes:

Do yourself a favour and take a listen to

Brahms – Romanze in F

You tube - watch?v=5T6mmVMd5f0

My First, My Last, My Everything – Lyrics by Peter Radcliffe, Tony Sepe, Barry White

Youtube - watch?v=2zfxZRBm3EY

I hope you have enjoyed this Edward's journey.

It's always extremely emotional to finish a story. I have laughed and cried, and I'm not going to lie, there were times I almost completely melted down after I lost my work.

But through all of that, I would receive messages of support and encouragement from readers and friends. I'm not sure people realize how important their words of support are, how those words can help in immeasurable ways. I thank each and every one of you who has read, reviewed, and recommended this story.

A very special thank you to: MizzezPattinson, Lattecoug, xrxdanixrx, robbsweetangel, justmestace, lynzylee, jadapattinson, nillaswan, coachlady12, nn813, m_474, FrostysWiff08, ordinary_vamp, kygirltwo, azucena34 and all the Twitterloves.

For those of you did not figure out the sequence of Isabella's chapters, it was every 5th one. Numberward is proud of those of you who did.

Coming soon: _Kink_ – A ridiculous summer-time romance between one very cocky Edward Cullen and one tough Bella Swan.

There's too much angst and stress in our real lives. Let's have some fun for a change! It's summer in Canada, and time for lots of drinking, warm days on the beach, and long, hot nights.

I hope you enjoy it.

Until then, drink ice wine and watch Jeopardy. Numberward will be doing the same.

Much love, Leslie

Twitter: CarLemon


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